Falling Away With You
by Galaxi
Summary: Just when it seems that nothing could get any worse, it does. Despite that, Jacob & Bella's love is a love that seems to transcend anything and everything that happens. OCs, J/B angst, middle of New Moon.
1. Betrayed

**Title:** Falling Away (With You)  
**Chapter:** Prologue, One  
**Pairing:** Jacob/Bella, of course  
**Rating:** PG-13/R for cursing and sexual situations in later chapters  
**Warnings:** While this fic is meant to be J/B, I've kind of attempted to make Bella a semi-normal person and fall in love with more than two people her entire freaking life. So beware of a bit of non-J/B throughout. And there's lots of angst. Angst angst angst.  
**Disclaimer:** Fic title/lyrics from Muse, characters from Stephenie Meyer.  
**Author's Note:** Told completely from Bella's perspective (ugh, I know). But yes, when I say "you", I do in fact mean "Bella". It was difficult for me to write so I can only assume it will be difficult to read. But how about you give it a try. (: (This is not a songfic, by the way.) The setting of the story might be a bit confusing. Chapter one starts during New Moon (Bella hasn't jumped off the damn cliff, Edward is gone), and almost everything that happens in the actual series happens in my story, but at different times. (_Almost_.) It's difficult to explain without giving everything away.  
**Summary:** "All of the love we left behind, watching the flash backs intertwine, memories I will never find—So I'll love whatever you become and forget the reckless things we've done._ I think our lives have just begun._"

This is my first multi-chaptered fic so I apologize if things are a little sloppy. Constructive criticism is more than welcome.

---

**Prologue.**

"I am _so_ sorry, Bella, my love. It's going to hurt more than I can tell you and _I'm sorry_." His cold fingers had stroked down your face to stop at your neck, and his hand trembled there. A howl grew louder in the distance.

That's when the physical pain had worsened, where it was so unbelievably overwhelming, you wondered why he was doing this to you, and you couldn't feel anything else anymore but the pain.

But you'd already started hurting before then, and it was worse, so you thought you could live through anything, and you did. Even though you were dead. But you still _survived_.

Your mind now wanders back to the present, and you remember everything now. But it doesn't matter if you remember them or not, because all has been said and done and you've now been changed into something you can never, ever take back.

The thing that you remember most, the thing that stands out most in your mind, is also the most painful. Your heart is stopped. That much is true. And you remember the exact sound your heart made as it slowed, before it came to a stop. You remember how it thumped unevenly in your chest, when the pain had still not completely abhorred your being.

But what you remember most is how every single heartbeat yelled, and whatever it was yelling was for one person and one person only. And you remember your heart beating only for him, saying, _thump… thump… thump (I love you)…_

You remember this all, and you remember Jacob's face, before your heart stops.

---

**Chapter One.**

Somehow, it all happens, even though Jacob had said he was positive he never would.

But it _does_ happen, just as you knew it _always_ would. The day you always knew was always bound to come (as much as you didn't want it to, deep down) was now here, and of course you didn't see it coming.

Even if you knew that not all werewolves were prone to imprinting, you could never really get rid of the feeling that there was someone perfect out there for Jacob. Someone who could and would quite literally complete him, more or less. Someone who would almost literally be his matching puzzle piece, and, most importantly, someone who could settle this deal (once and for all) between _you_ and Jacob.

You had always had the feeling that Jacob was _especially_ imprint-proof, though, even if you don't necessarily want to believe it. At the same time, you want him to be happy. But he had said himself that he never expected it to happen. You always took Jacob's words right to your heart. So why had you never expected it, just like he once did, all at the same time?

You never wanted to accept that you knew all this, though. You think maybe that's why you act so ridiculously, so pitifully, so much like someone who should probably be locked up in a mental asylum.

So when the day, when the moment is suddenly thrust upon all three of you, when you first see the look in his eyes as he just _stares_ at her (her name being Natalie, as you would find out sooner than you'd like), you can't hold back the scream that literally hurls itself out of your chest as you tear out of the general store, past the girl who is both gorgeous and pleasant and knows more than a thing or two about cars, past that one person in your life whom you once thought would always—_always_—be there for you, past your car in which you both arrived in. And not caring at all where you were heading, as long as it was anywhere away from there.

---

There was no doubt in your mind that he would find you sooner or later. Even if _that girl _completely got a hold of Jacob's life and there were no more room in his heart left to love anyone with, neither of you could hide the fact that you'd be talking to each other again, sooner or later.

Unfortunately (_fortunately_), it was sooner.

You weren't meaning to run into him, not really. You weren't looking for trouble, either. Surprisingly, you don't find trouble, even if you knew that you were looking for Jacob anyway and Jacob _was _trouble and there was no reason you could find that you wouldn't have found trouble if you were trying to find Jacob. (And all of this made sense in your head back at Charlie's house, too, and you hadn't been expecting _that_ to happen.)

But you don't find trouble—not _really_.

Jacob was there, sitting on the hood of his Rabbit like he'd been waiting for you ever since you'd screamed and ran and tripped out of that general store so long ago (how long had it been…? Maybe yesterday?). And it seemed right then to you, and maybe him, that ages had passed as you stared into each other's eyes. But you knew it was not the same, and it would never be the same, even though nothing had really changed. He still stares at you right now like you _are _his life, like yesterday _didn't _just happen and he stares at you right now like he knows he could speak an entire declaration of his love for you with a simple look of his eye. That was true, of course. So nothing had changed.

But everything had changed.

Especially the way his voice sounds when he finally speaks, like in actuality, you aren't the _only_ one who had cried until your eyes ran dry last night.

"So…" His voice cracks in its usual husky tone, but it's all different this time around and you don't really know why. He clears his throat. "I guess you know what's happened."

You would have laughed out loud if it weren't for the circumstances. "Yes," you manage to reply, smiling dryly at his timid expression. "I guess I do." Seconds pass, and you decide to speak up again when he says nothing, does nothing but stare at your shoes, like he's already looked into your eyes for far too long already. "You can't say it was… hard to _miss_, though." Your voice is stronger than you ever could have hoped, and it helps nothing when you can't pull your gaze away from his face.

You never thought that _Jacob_ could be the weak one. That was the role _you _were destined (designed) to play.

"Yeah, I guess I can't say that," he says at last.

And then suddenly _he's_ the one staring you down with the full force of his eyes, and you wonder why his eyes are so _there_ and nothing else is there until you realize that his face is not more than three inches away from your own and you're breathing too hard for comfort, and his smile is so heartbreakingly beautiful and all so wrong at the same time.

"_You_ also can't say it was _my_ fault," he continues in a whisper, and he gently presses his lips to yours for the very first time.

It wouldn't be the last.

As you allow the warmth of his breath to enter in your mouth, you somehow know something like this is too good _not_ to be a first and last time—which is strangely ironic as you know that at the same time, something this good and this strange should _not_ be able to happen again. Especially since now you are crying. But since when was that ever a surprise?

So you kiss him back for a few moments because you can, crying while he cries.

---

Seconds pass. Then minutes. (And by now you are already out of the garage that you once stood in, under the looming figure of the boy, no, _man_, who once—and maybe still did—love you.) Those minutes turn into hours and then days and then weeks and it's not until two months later that you realize all along you'd actually been _counting_. Waiting.

For what, you don't know exactly. Maybe you weren't meant to wait for anything at all. Maybe that's why at every tick of a clock, every suspicious and the _maybe-she's-crazy-after-all_ look you get from Charlie, every intentional glance away from all mirrors in the house tear a fresh wound through that hole in your chest you thought had almost been _so close_ to being fully healed long ago.

To open something like that up again… it was putting you through so much more pain than you could have ever thought possible, even though you thought maybe you'd grown immune to being ripped to pieces by broken promises. (Promises—did they mean _nothing_ anymore?) You thought maybe nothing could ever put you in a world of absolute hurt more than when Edw—when _he_ left you (but you weren't thinking about that), and you were beyond as miserable as you'd ever been when Jacob had to be the one who left you in pieces _now_.

But the worst part of it all was that Jacob had promised—he'd fucking _promised_—and now he had stared into the eyes of his imprint (but you always knew it couldn't have been his fault, so you stopped trying to blame him and tried to blame yourself). And now it's like nothing mattered at all anymore.

---

You weren't expecting to see him ever again, not really.

You also weren't ever, _ever_ expecting to meet Natalie. Not ever. Not really.

At the same time, you hadn't been expecting your body to drive you back down to La Push, straight into to the general store in which she worked… the general store in which your heart had—yet again—been torn out.

What in the hell is your purpose there, anyway? Nothing comes to mind at first.

The first thing you notice, though, is the absence of Jacob. And for that you are grateful, but _only_ right now.

Natalie looks at you curiously from behind the counter, and it takes her longer than it would have taken _you_ to recognize a familiar face. You would _never_ forget a face. (Yet another reason why someone like her—so _regular_—could not be a good choice for Jacob. _Your_ Jacob… even if he doesn't belong to you now, or maybe never did.) It takes her a good five minutes of watching you walk aimlessly around the store, pretending like you were fascinated by the sloppy display of beef jerky and it takes her five minutes of sneaking peeks at you like you were just a customer in need of assistance and she was wondering all the while if maybe she could be the one to assist you.

The thing is, though, five minutes pass and you still don't know quite what to say to her when she speaks to you—because you know she (or you) would, eventually.

"Um… hello there." Her perfectly innocent voice shouldn't have ticked you off so badly. You'd heard her speak before. You'd struck up a pleasant conversation with her while Jacob was looking for tools to tamper on his car with, ignoring the both of you, all those months ago. She was one of the nicest human people you'd ever met, someone you could probably become best friends with. "My name is Natalie, and it looked like you were having some trouble finding what you—"

You interrupt her by instinct. (Instinct?) You don't mean to. "Yes," you very nearly bark. _Calm down_, you tell yourself. _It's not her fault; it's not her fault… _You find yourself repeating over and over again in your head. You take a deep, raspy breath before starting again. "Yeah, I was trying to find something. I'm not quite sure what, though."

You turn fully around to get a good look at her face, because you know you have to and you know you want to and you know you never really did before.

She's just about as lovely as her voice, this _Natalie_ person. Long and dark brown hair goes past her waist even when pulled up in a braided ponytail and even when flung over the front of her chest, her shoulder. The braid is slightly limp, sloppy, like she'd had it in for an entirely stressful day. Her skin is a deep russet color, glowing perfectly and showing absolutely no trace of any sort of makeup or bronzer, or blemish. The only unnatural thing about her is the thin layer of mascara that lightly traces the length of her gorgeous and long eyelashes. Her body is quite slender, but not anorexic, and her shoulders are strong and broad.

She couldn't be any more than nineteen. She couldn't be anymore beautiful, and it takes you a minute to realize that she's not gorgeous. She's really not. _Is_ she?

But what kills you inside right now is that you know Jacob probably made the exact same assessment you had about this girl. Maybe he'd stared even longer. In fact, it was quite likely he'd stared longer. Jacob knew more about this girl than you did. So why were you judging her so poorly?

All these thoughts, and only a few seconds had passed between the two of you. "Well," she says in a slightly breathless voice, like she rather wouldn't be anywhere else in the world than 'helping' you right now. Natalie was far too nice. "I was just about to close up the shop. I'm manager, you know." She points proudly to her chest, and you blink, not being able to care any less. _Completely off subject,_ _shallow and silly_, you think. "Is there anything you'd like me to get for you before I do…?"

"No," you say, much too quickly. And the slight wrinkle made around her beautiful, almost-black eyes makes you know that she knows you didn't really come to buy anything in the first place. Of course not.

"I saw you the other day, you know. Or… well… I guess it was more like a few months." She smiles sheepishly, and you're not quite sure what to think at this display of kindness that you really do not deserve at all.

You don't say anything. You don't know what expression is on your face. Maybe it's better you don't.

"I guess I introduced myself back then… though you never did tell me your name." She extends out a lovely, delicate hand, and her smile is blinding.

"B-Bella," you finally stutter, taking her hand cautiously in one of yours. "Bella… Swan."

Her smile grows into something different than her usual pleasantness—now her smile was showing that she is clearly sorry for you. Pitying you. Like she knows everything that happened already. The thing is, though, you are sick of people feeling sorry for you, even though they couldn't feel any different about you anyway. This girl is no exception.

But Natalie murmurs, "I know," and whether this statement had double meanings or not, you'd never really find out.

---

In your bedroom that night, as you curl yourself up on the cold wood floor, you cry.

It's not like any time you've cried before… the salt water comes out softer than before, not like your tear ducts were exploding (like it had seemed many times), it's definitely more unbearable—you flinch at the word—and it tears at your wound like there are infinite feelings to destroy.

And this time, you can't stop. Your eyes aren't drying out. You lay there on the floor that entire night, wondering why you feel this way. Wondering why you had to be so _damn_ kind (more or less) to that girl! Why couldn't you have set the law down straight? Why couldn't you have just slapped her, let her know that Jacob was _yours_, cussed her out and been on your way? That _was_ what you'd come there to do, wasn't it?

You are not sure of anything anymore.

It had been over a year ago that Charlie dared come into your bedroom at night to see why you were screaming in your sleep. A year ago, you'd had completely different nightmares to scream about than the ones you did now. The ones you _now_ scream about.

---

In the middle of the night, when the sun still hasn't quite found its way over the mountain, you feel a warm hand running over your forehead as you are already burning under a cold sweat. No—the hand is more than warm… it's scorching. And it's all too familiar.

You calmly open your eyes to stare into the ones of Jacob Black. For some reason, you are not surprised, yet at the same time you are wondering why he is doing this to you. Tears are streaming silently down your face, and you make no effort to stop them for the sake of Jacob. You know you wouldn't be able to, anyhow. And maybe he wouldn't have tried to stop the ones that were pooling out of his eyes, as well. In any case, your face is wet and his face is wet and your tears are mingling with his no matter what.

His mouth moves, and the whispered words that come out don't mean as much as they probably should have. They don't mean as much as he probably meant them to. "I love you, Bella Swan. More than my own life." You say nothing. You simply look into his deep pools of black-brown eyes and say nothing at all. He seems to choke on his next words as they spill out quickly, much too quickly than you are able to comprehend. "More than anyone else's, too. And I swear to God that I _mean_ that, Bella, damn it!"

Jacob wastes absolutely no time in jumping up and disappearing out the window without another word. It was probably better he weren't there for you to see him break down, anyway.

But you miss him immediately.

As you think back to that morning, you think maybe you just _heard_ him saying those words. Just heard those words in your head. Maybe they weren't really _said _by him. You'd never been very creative with your imagination, anyway.

---

**A/N:** BAH. So, tell me what you think, and if things are making sense, and if I should just trash the project altogether… even though I have the next two chapters completely written. (:


	2. Chafed

**A/N:** I guess I could've mentioned in the first chapter's A/N that we'd be seeing a bit of OC. Hopefully not too much, unless you don't mind. I am quite sure that I suck at making new characters…

And here comes the part where a bit of _non_-Jacob/Bella romance comes into play. I hope that doesn't upset you so much. (I actually _really_ enjoy writing parts like these.)

I feel like I should be telling you so much more than I've given already, so I'm just going to come straight out and ask if you'd like me to tell you anything else. :D

Without further adieu, I bring you chapter two (which—luckily for you—is a longer chapter):

---

**Chapter Two.**

As the days go by much more slowly than usual, you don't call him. And he doesn't call you. And the last time you saw him was when he was in your bedroom declaring his love to you in the middle of the night. And the last time you saw him… you hadn't said anything to him at all… and you'd left the situation completely broken.

You know you're going to need to go back and fix everything.

Charlie mumbles to you one morning during breakfast, as you are lazily stirring the Raisin Bran flakes around in your cereal bowl and he's sitting across from you drinking his coffee, "Seems like you haven't been seeing Jacob much lately."

"Hmm," is all the sound you make, willing yourself not to choke although nothing is in your mouth.

There's a pause around the table as the light of the morning reaches through the kitchen window above the sink, and the light is very warm. For the first time since Jacob broke you, you realize that you are a junior in high school. And right now, you are on summer vacation. Not like you were attempting to enjoy it, anyhow… but you feel as though you are wasting it all.

But things like these are trivial to you, so they don't take up much space in those imaginary filing cabinets you have in your brain.

"That's not very respectful to his feelings, you know. I'll bet he misses you."

You don't bother looking up in response. You can feel Charlie's serious stare from the corner of your eye. You don't _need_ to see the expression on his face. It would only hurt you more knowing how much pain would inevitably be clear on Charlie's face.

"I guess I'll start being respectful to _his_ feelings when he does the same to me," you say, knowing you don't really mean it, of course not. "I'll bet he misses me, too, but it doesn't change anything." Not right now, you silently add. You say nothing more.

You then wordlessly excuse yourself from the table, flinching at the scraping sound of the chair's leg against linoleum, throw your bowl in the sink without pausing to rinse it and march out of the kitchen. Out of the house. Down the pathway and into your truck.

Silently, you are grateful that Charlie doesn't stop you. You didn't expect him to, not at all.

---

Driving down to La Push in silence, you think nothing of the consequence this will have on you as you return home and think about the day's events. You know it could do nothing at all to help you, but at the same time you know it was only a matter of time until you were ripping your hair out from lack of seeing him. What to do when you got there, though? Natalie—you flinch—would inevitably be with him. You know how a werewolf isn't able to stay away from their imprint for long. And that knowledge wouldn't help you at all.

As you stare out your window shield into the sunny yet cold mist of early morning, you notice a large and dark shirtless figure down the road. Large, dark, no shirt, and cut-off jeans. It's an altogether too familiar figure.

You instantly freeze. You foot eases up on the pedal and you nearly stop the car, but you can't.

As your truck inches closer to the dark figure in the misty air of morning, you notice a few things about him. First, he's walking slowly. He's walking _very_ slowly. You might not have noticed that he was walking at all, if it weren't for your ever closer proximity to each other. The next thing you notice is that, no, this person is not Jacob.

It's Embry Call.

You squint into the now-settling fog through your front window, and almost gasp with pain at the realization that Embry's walking slowly is for no other reason than not to alarm you. He doesn't want to give you any reason to be afraid of him, so he walks slowly and he lifts his hands slightly in front of him, a placating gesture that nearly rips your heart out.

You don't know Embry very well, not as much as you know Jake. So you probably shouldn't have been so hurt at the way he was acting right now. All the same, it would have been strange not to feel anything at all at that moment. You were through with being a zombie. You were through with being _dead_.

So you firmly press your foot against the gas, putting on a brave face and unwillingly filling in the few yards of space between you two as you drive up to meet him.

Seeing the look of recognition plain on your face, he immediately opens the passenger door as you slowly come to a stop to the right of him, easing your truck to the side of the road. Embry closes the door hard behind him and turns to look at you.

Nothing's changed about him, not much. You could never really get past the amazing growth spurt all those Quileute boys seemed to go through between every time you saw them, so that one was a given and didn't really count. The look on his _face_, though… it's too familiar for comfort.

"You and I…," he starts a bit uncomfortably, his much too wise eyes studying your face closely. "We need to talk."

You hold back a cough. "No offense, Embry, but I don't think 'we' need to do anything. I didn't want to pull any of the rest of the pack into this, you know."

He grins, a bit of a smirk. "Doesn't change the fact that it did."

The both of you sit there in silence for an endless moment. You stare out the wind shield as you observe the rain clouds—of course—forming in the distance, near the horizon where the sun is slowly rising from behind. The loud engine of your truck still runs (not a surprise) because it's still cold outside whether it's summer or not and you still need the warmth of the heater.

You've always needed the warmth.

You try not to think about how the silence between you and Embry is slowly turning a tad awkward. He still studies your face, and you try not to be self-conscious. You don't have any reason for that.

"I'm sorry," you finally choke out, and tears begin to sting at your eyes. "I am so sorry I had to involve anyone else in this. But that's all I was ever really good at, wasn't I? Breaking everyone else's_ heart_, everyone else around me and everyone I love." The words flow out of you in a rush, and now you're yelling while tears streak down your cheeks and onto your lap. Your voice breaks with each word, but you are past caring so much. "But I hadn't meant to do anything like that! I'm just a shitty excuse for a person that should care about everyone else in my life, not just _one_ person. I'm just constantly hurting you all so much when I only meant to—" You can't finish. Your rant ends in a gurgled sob. The words you thought about speaking next suddenly sound very wrong in your head.

"…Hurt _one_ person?" Embry finishes for you in a whisper, and you flinch as his words hit hard.

You can't deny that they're true, though. "Yes," you whisper, bending down to lean your head against the steering wheel in defeat. You're crying now, so your next words sound pitiful. "…And no. I didn't mean to. I really, truly and honestly, did not."

"I know that. I know you didn't." Embry says nothing more; you say nothing more. You know you should. You wonder how strange or awkward it might be for him to sit here and listen to you moan and groan and spill everything to him, but then you realize that's probably what he meant to come here to do. And you realize Jake wouldn't have sent him if he didn't know Embry was up for the challenge.

"I love you so much, Embry," you blurt before you can think about what you're saying. You hear his breath hitch and you know he wasn't expecting that. Neither were you. "No—not like that, not exactly. But… you… you and all the rest of the pack, I love you so much more than I ever put out there. You know that, right?" All the while, you are mumbling down to your shoes.

He answers quicker than you could have. "Well, yeah," he mutters, and the huskiness of his voice makes you smile so hard your cheeks hurt. You are almost glad he can't see your face against the steering wheel. Maybe it's better he did, though, so you look up to see his bewildered expression that is just so… _sixteen-year-old-werewolf_. You love that expression so much.

"A-and… well…" he continues in a shy mumble, looking uncomfortable, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. "I guess I love you, too." Embry's cheeks burn red and he leans in to give you an awkward, one-armed hug. You sigh into the warmth of his chest, and you don't object when he leans down and gently kisses your cheek.

"This deal with you and Jake—it'll all blow over, y'know. Sooner or later."

Silence again engulfs the both of you, and now it's so comfortable that you'd probably cry when it was over. You'd count on crying, in fact.

You laugh very suddenly, shocking the both of you, and he more or less jerks out of your arms in embarrassment. But you don't care, so you grab his hand and you let him know.

He grins just slightly and looks away, out the windows that have now gathered a fog from the warmth of the inside. He notes quietly after a few seconds, "Looks like a storm's coming."

"Yeah," you say, reluctantly, grinning like a fool but still not being able to help the tears that fall down your cheeks like you're an endless water supply.

"I hope you know what I mean by that, Bella Swan."

And you do. But you say nothing more. You just sit there, staring at his face while he looks away, remembering it and placing it in one of those imaginary filing cabinets in your head, under the one titled 'People I Love'. You place his picture under 'Wolfpack' and then narrow it down to 'Embry Call', and he eventually leaves you and races into the forest, his form quivering before he hits the tree line, so you're glad you had enough time to remember his face, because you never forget a face.

Then you realize that you placed his picture right next to Jacob's.

And then you turn your truck around and drive home in the rain because you love Jacob and Jacob's imprinted and it wasn't you.

---

The next morning, you receive a phone call. And you don't know why whoever is on the other side doesn't just hang up already; after all, it rings about thirteen times before you finally give up and answer to stop the annoying. You mentally grumble to yourself to create a voicemail recording sometime soon.

"Hello." You don't _ask_ it like you probably should have.

"Bella?" The rough, husky voice makes your heart stop. You can't say anything. Seconds pass.

"…Bella? You there?"

"Yes!" Ugh. You've basically just screamed into the telephone receiver. "Yes yes yes, Jake. I'm here. I'm here." Your voice cracks desperately. Your heart threatens to literally stop in your chest. It's the first time you've talked to him in more than two months.

"Bella… I'm so, _so_ sorry," he whispers.

"What do you mean?" But then you realize something's wrong (of course). But it's just his voice. It's… familiar and different at the same time. And suddenly you have unsure thoughts. "How could anything be wrong? I am just so glad to hear your _voice_," you cry. "…Jake?"

"Bella, stop! Just… stop, alright?!" You are taken aback by his tone. You're hurt. And the tears flow out of your eyes now for a different reason altogether. "I'm not Jake, alright? This is… it's just—" His breath stops suddenly, like he can't go on. (So then, who is 'he', exactly?)

"This is Embry," he finally coughs.

Your body is numb. You don't know if it suddenly turned that way or always had been. But right now, you really notice it. "Oh," you say, your voice a monotone. You have no emotion. Your tears stop. And for some strange reason, your heart picks up a regular pace again. (Or, as regular as it'd ever be.)

"I really am sorry, Bella," he whispers. His voice is saturated with so much emotion, it's hard to comprehend. Is this really_ Embry_? "I didn't mean to disappoint you."

"I know you didn't. I just—just got my hopes up. _I_ should be saying sorry."

"Jake warned me you'd be trying to find any reason at all to blame yourself." He sighs loudly, and kind of chuckles and you know it's meant to comfort you or maybe get you laughing or at least react somehow, but you don't laugh. You don't say anything at all.

"Bella." Embry catches your attention.

"I'm sorry, Embry. I don't feel like talking right about now."

"Yeah, yeah, I knew you'd probably say that!" He says quickly, before you have time to hang up. "Just hear me out, though, alright? I didn't call just to hear your voice, y'know."

"I knew you probably wouldn't, Embry."

"Wait—no, I hadn't meant it like that! I really do enjoy hearing your voice."

And now you can't help but chuckle. He just reminds you so much of…

"But would you like me to get to the point now?"

"Um. No. Wait—! Yes…? Wait, no—is it good news or bad news?" You bite your lip. "Because… well, I'm pretty sure you'd know what my response would be to both."

Embry hesitates on the other line. "I'm not sure which it is, actually," he says at last, and his voice is thoughtful. "I guess it depends on if you mind seeing Jake—"

"Excuse me?!" You interrupt, but you don't care. "I don't know if that's a trick question or something, but hell _yes_, I'd like to see Jake!" Quite inconveniently, you hiccup once.

"—with Nat," he finishes softly.

You don't know why, but your body freezes and your mind freezes and you don't _need_ to ask, but you do. Even though you already know. "And _who _is Nat, might I ask?" The words are whispered like poison. You're afraid he doesn't hear you when he hesitates for a long while.

"Jacob's imprint," he replies at last. "Natalie." You can hear the sucking in of his breath as he braces himself for your answer. But you don't have one. Maybe your silence was an answer in itself.

So they had _pet names_ for her now down at the reservation? But you don't speak this thought aloud.

"It will be _kind_ _of_ like a date… but not really," he continues softly, and you're almost oblivious. You don't speak. You _can't_ speak. Maybe he already knows that, so he continues on in a barely-audible whisper.

"…a _double_ date, Bells…" Huh? (You're not sure what he just called you. Last time anyone called you that was sixty-one days ago. And, yes, you're still counting.)

"…with me," he finishes in a huff. Or maybe that was just the sound of your breath being knocked out of you. One of the two.

---

The next Saturday evening, you begin to wonder how in the hell Embry managed to convince you to drive you here. You wonder how in the _hell _any of this made any sense to you back at Charlie's house. But it _did_ make sense—didn't it?

And now you're at Jacob's house, and now Embry's arm is slinking around your waist as you jump (or stumble, really) out of the car, and now he's whispering instructions (or rules and/or restrictions, as you think of them) into the hair by your ear as you walk. (Rules on how you shouldn't stare at Jake for an extended period of time, and how you shouldn't talk too much to him, either, and you can't even _touch _him.)

But somehow, you know you don't need instructions. They would've come along as the evening progressed. And it hurts more when you're forewarned, when you know that you'll _want_ to look at him, and you'll _want_ to talk to him. (You'll _want_ to touch him.)

But it's all a façade, you remind yourself quickly. At least for you, it is. But you don't tell Embry this, even if he already knows. Embry seems to like you… a lot. Maybe too much for his own good. And this'll all blow over soon, you remind yourself. It has to.

You mean to knock three times on the door, but your fist hardly comes down a second time before it is being flung open. Jacob stands in the doorway (time slows down), and he stares at your face and doesn't seem to see anything else, and he's standing _right there_, not more than two feet away. You almost flinch. You almost cry. You almost do something. But you don't.

His face is emotionless, and it kills you inside.

You don't speak, you don't move, you don't breathe. Maybe your face is one of utter horror, maybe disgust. But there's a part of you that hopes you show surprise, or (not so) quite possibly joy. But you don't feel surprise or joy. You don't feel anything.

Embry coughs a bit uncomfortably (brings you and Jacob both back to reality), knowing right here and right now is not his place or his time. He excuses himself and you're only vaguely aware of his arm leaving your side, vaguely aware of his hand giving your hand a gentle squeeze before he lets go. "Better go help Nat set up," he murmurs softly, and the door closes behind him.

You and Jacob are alone standing on the porch—or lack thereof—of his house.

"Close your mouth, Bella, honey. You'll catch flies," he finally whispers, and the corners of his mouth pull up into a small, sad smile.

You obey him—you almost always do—and slowly close your mouth, and then for that one moment, you don't give a damn about Embry's so-called _rules_. And then you walk forward to touch Jake, carefully wrapping your arms around his torso, and his arms slide tightly around you in response.

The static that jolts through your body at contact with his burning skin literally knocks you breathless. You hadn't touched him, felt him, hugged him in such a long time. It felt like you'd suddenly jumped into the burning waters of a hot tub after running naked through the blistering cold of a blizzard for too long to count.

It was as though your body wasn't physically prepared for such a long separation with him; you'd believe that theory right away if someone told you so.

You attempt to catch your breath, but it's difficult. You give up and end up sobbing into his shirt (long-sleeved, which surprises you since he usually runs around half-naked), and your cries come out in short gasps that do nothing to help you regain your breath. You weren't prepared for the reaction your body gave to his. It makes you suddenly realize that you'd forgotten how great this really was, _this_ right here—Jake and Bells. _Just_ Jake and Bells.

"Oh my God, _Jake_," you choke, breaking down in the sleeves of his shirt and spoiling the material.

"I know, Bella," he whispers softly into the hair on the top of your head, and his arms constrict around you ever tighter. "I know. I'm sorry, baby."

"You _should_ be, damn it," you can't help but say, because you'd always wanted to push the blame off yourself and onto someone else. But for once, you almost can't find anything to blame yourself for… nothing except liking Jacob so much. Oh, hell, _why_ did you have to like Jacob so much?

"Nat's coming," Jacob hisses suddenly—yes, he _actually_ hisses, and it surprises you, considering _Nat's_ his imprint and all.

Your heart drops down to your feet when he lets go of you, assuming a casual stance in front of you, his expression turning into that of someone who might be having a regular conversation with a regular person (who definitely wasn't you). Then you catch the gist of what he's trying to put off by the slightly warning look in his eye. And then you try and look just like how he is, like maybe you'd just been talking and not crying and speaking of crying, you quickly wipe the tears from your eyes.

Natalie opens the door then, her cheerful and excited face clenching your stomach so badly you think you might throw up, right then and there. You constrict your throat to prevent doing so, but it makes you unable to breathe and Jacob is staring at you strangely.

"So!" Natalie yells as soon as the door opens, a smile lighting up her face. "The food's almost ready. Embry's trying to help me make dessert," she laughs.

You attempt to grin as well, but it probably looks more like a frown.

"Great, that's great," Jake replies, his voice sounding genuinely happy. "I just—hey, do you mind if I chat with Bella out here for just a bit? I haven't seen her in ages." At this he just casually grins. "We won't be too long." Your heart stops in your chest and your eyes widen. Jacob's face is turned away so he can't see your reaction. Natalie's too absorbed in Jake to notice you. Silently, you are grateful for this.

You swear Natalie's face would probably break in half if she grinned any wider. "Oh, yeah, sure!" she replies loudly, and the sound of it makes you cringe. No one should ever look or sound as happy as she does. "Embry could slow me down quite a bit, anyway…" She winks, and Jake nods.

"Thanks, Nat," he says just a bit quieter, and leans in to kiss her on the cheek. Her cheeks turn a light shade of pink and she looks like she's trying hard not to just break down laughing.

You clench your fists so hard the muscles in your hands hurt, along with your stomach.

"No problem," she replies quietly, and heads back into the house, closing the door behind her. Suddenly, your lungs don't feel as constricted and you can breathe easier.

You hardly have time to blink before Jacob's arms are around you again, _lifting you_ up off the ground, and he whispers huskily (and maybe somewhat hastily) in your ear, "We're having this discussion in the trees. It's been so long since we've been _alone_." The tone of his voice makes you feel a bit dirty, and you mentally shake yourself. _Ugh_, you can't spare the time for _those_ thoughts right now.

And without a moment to spare, you're being whisked away in Jacob's arms in the direction of the woods that are so close by. A small squeak exits your mouth at the sudden movement, because Jake moves so damn fast, but you'd rather not say anything at all to ruin the moment. There's nothing more you want right now than to be with Jacob, alone, so that you can talk this all out and begin the path to recovery. You're not sure whether you're happy or sad that Jake seems to so desperate to make everything better again (because it was coming to the point where it seemed nothing could help).

So you "live the moment"—as your mother Renee would say—and honestly try to relax in Jacob's arms, enjoying the sensation of flying sideways. You shiver convulsively in Jake's arms, though it has nothing to do with the cold, and you feel the darkness enshroud you both in a matter of seconds.

---

**A/N:** Third chapter shall be up soon. I'll get you a bit more (or a lot more) J/B romance soon, as well.


	3. Unearthed

A/N: I honestly hope I am not updating _too _slowly. :) (Three days—is that a large gap?)

Happy late-ish Halloween. (I assure you, though, this chapter isn't _so_ scary.)

So with that, here is chapter three (along with more J/B than you can handle in a story this angsty…).

---

**Chapter Three.**

Jacob runs for a long time. You lose count of how long it was after a time. (But then you realize that trying to count the time hasn't been doing so much good for you, anyway. So you give up.)

You find your breath hitching repeatedly, and with each unsteady breath brought some kind of assurance from Jake that everything was okay, everything would be figured out. You're not sure if you can believe him yet or not, though. It still seems too early to rise up on hope, only to be crushed the next moment.

As soon as you are within the depth of the trees (which, surprisingly, took a shorter time than you'd have thought—but then again, Jacob was basically super-human), it begins to rain. Hard.

Vaguely you wonder, as Jake sets you back down on your feet, if this was the storm Embry was talking about. But then you feel silly for thinking that—after all, he had just meant for it to be metaphoric. But when you feel the scorching cold and wetness through the thick canopy of trees above you, and you are getting wet, you decide that maybe he'd meant it in more ways than that. Because it wasn't just raining—it was positively _pouring_.

You're only subtly aware of Jake's stripping off of his long sleeved t-shirt, revealing his much-too-big-for-a-sixteen-year-old body underneath, and then you find yourself smiling to yourself as you realize Natalie probably would have been a bit suspicious if Jake wandered around half-naked all the time. At least you have that one guilty pleasure that she could never have.

All thoughts are blocked off a spasm of cold air rushes around your body, and you're thinking how stupid if was of you to wear nothing but a thin sweatshirt. Then again, you hadn't expected to be ran off to some remote part of the forest (and with remoteness comes coldness).

But you're not cold anymore, suddenly; of course, you shouldn't be surprised that Jake wouldn't allow that. His arms are around you in less than a second after the rain begins to pours down, and you automatically feel sweltering. The rain seems to sizzle right off his skin, hardly having a chance to throw its coldness into effect. You're wet, but you're warm. And you can live with that.

He's breathing hard, making you impossibly warmer, and you have reason to think it might not be because of the run. His body quivers against yours suddenly, violently (and continues), and you wouldn't have been able to tell he was sobbing if it weren't for the sound he made. Oh, God—just the _sound _of it. It was enough to get you going, and you realized you both were probably a pitiful sight; clutching each other like life lines, crying like that's what you'd been born to do. And then you realize you don't give care what you look like. The point of running away was not to stress about who could see you and who couldn't—but then you know that Jacob could hold a better façade than you any day. You almost thought he was _happy_ back at the house, but looking at him now… made you seem ridiculous.

You're not sure how long you two stood there like that—maybe minutes, maybe hours, but then you realize they would have come looking for you if it had been that long… or maybe not. Natalie seemed willing to give you all the time you needed. All you know is that enough time had passed to the point where you'd memorized what Jake's tears felt like, sliding down your face along with yours, and you thought you knew those drops of wetness better from the rain around you.

Another enormous shudder passes through Jake's body before he begins speaking.

"Haven't cried… in so long," he gasps into your hair.

"Not me," you reply in a shaky laugh. "I can't remember a day when I haven't cried since you've been gone, Jake." You instantly feel awful for saying that out loud, though, no matter how true it is. No need to add to the pain that is inevitably engulfing Jacob right now.

"I believe you," he says simply, his voice choking, his arms constricting tighter around you. But as though an electric jolt shocked his body, his convulsions stop. And his retching sobs stop. And he seems to be desperately trying to make his voice audible, but you know you could have heard him from a mile away at that moment.

"Bells," he whispers now. "I am going to start talking and you have to promise not to interrupt."

"You know I can't guarantee anything."

He chuckles softly, kissing a line up the side of your face. "Yeah," he says at last, "I guess I knew that."

But then you realize that maybe Jacob deserves something, and the least you could do was shut your big, fat, stubborn mouth for a few moments while Jacob got out what needed to.

"I'll try and be good," you mumble after a few moments. "I'm sorry. I swear I'll try."

He doesn't reply for several minutes, but you are perfectly content with that. You use those few minutes to gather yourself together again, wiping your tears against the burning hot skin of his chest, and you calm yourself enough so that your breath is not as hasty and unsteady. You lean your ear gently against his bare chest, trying to find the sound of his heartbeat. It doesn't take you long.

His heartbeat is like… _thumpump… thumpump… thumpump…_ repeated over and over. Very evenly, yet very fast at the same time. You have it memorized before his next words are out. And his next words were not what you were expecting.

"I've ran out of clever things to say, Bella," he murmurs. "So just shoot me now."

You're baffled, but not for long. "Never," you insist quietly.

He sighs; a long, huge sigh. You sigh along with him and swear you've never been more comfortable in your entire life—at least under the circumstances. Many more minutes pass, though it seems like just seconds.

"Oh, God," he growls, and his sudden aggressive tone takes you aback. "You'll never know how infuriating… how frustrating… how much it just _sucks_ to be me right now."

"I could never even dream," you agree softly, tightening your hold around his neck and leaning back just a bit to get a better look at his face. His expression is so tortured that you regret looking in the first place.

You hadn't noticed until just then that the rain had gone to a faint drizzle. Jacob's face is entirely too gorgeous in the dim light of the evening… in the wondrous sparkle of the rain. Raindrops stick like dew to the tips of his jet black hair, and you swear you'd never seen a warmer face than his. Warmth could be tangible by just looking at his face, not always by being in contact with his skin; that was always a comfort, in some strange way, though. (Although you'd never turn down a chance to touch his skin.)

"Bella," he gasps suddenly, seeming to startle you both. His eyes are suddenly wide, his grip around your waist stiff. "I don't suppose… you'd ever thought… well…"

"You can tell me anything, Jacob," you murmur when he hesitates.

"I know that." He gathers a huge breath before starting again. "I don't suppose you'd ever thought that… that maybe an imprint… could be broken?"

"What?" This idea shocks you so much, you find yourself fidgeting in his arms. But also… just the _idea_ of this… a broken imprint? It's too much for your brain to fathom, much too great at the same time.

And much too impossible, you're nearly sure of this. (Then again, you're not a werewolf, and you're definitely not a werewolf expert.)

Jacob's look suddenly averts down, like he's ashamed he suggested this. "Sorry," he says quickly, proving you correct. "Never mind. Forget I said anything."

"No, no!" you nearly shout, and he looks at you with a peculiar expression on his face. "Where did you get that idea, Jake? I would really like to discuss that." A look that suggest he is unsure flashes across his face and that look stays. "Please," you whisper, cupping his smoldering cheek with your hand. "_Please_."

"I'm not… really sure that would be… a good idea," Jacob chokes, and the tone of his voice reminds you of so long ago, when he'd first 'broken the rules' and came in through your bedroom window to tell you he was a werewolf. There's the same desperation in his voice, the same… frustration. And you suddenly understand.

"Because of Sam?" you whisper.

You were not expecting his reaction.

In a sudden burst of rage, he breaks free from your arms, letting go of you and stumbling backwards, leaving you to gasp in shock (while you stumble back a few feet as well). He grips his head with his two large hands like he has a major headache, and you hear a loud growling noise coming from deep within his chest. A string of swearing flows unmistakably under his breath, and his body begins to quiver dangerously. You can't move.

A few moments pass, and you're not out of your shocked state yet. He then begins to yell—quite loudly, actually—and you automatically feel the need to cry. What in the hell did you say to make him act this way?

Jacob is trying to calm himself, you can tell. You wouldn't have said anything if you'd known he would react so strongly. You try to recollect yourself, as well, and you remind yourself to breathe when your lungs begin to ache in your chest.

The whole of his body has stopped shaking, but his hands still tremble in clenched fists.

"God _damn_ it, Bella!" he finally roars, and you're so taken aback that you have absolutely nothing to say. What did you do wrong, for crying out loud? "Must _every fucking thing _be all about Sam?"

No words escape your mouth. You're still deciding whether you should say anything at all.

"That's all you ever thought," he continues to shout, and you flinch with every word. At the same time, you understand now. You'd just never known he'd felt so strongly about the whole Sam issue. You'd never really thought it was such a big deal. "Sam's not the ruler of my _life_, you know!"

You finally find your voice, although your words are weak. "He's… pack leader, right? The alpha," you whisper.

"That doesn't mean he tells me what ideas I can and can't have! I thought up all that broken imprint shit all my own. It's probably not even possible," he says, his voice slightly calmer, breaking on the last word.

"I… couldn't have known that." You can't think of anything else to say. You still can't understand his rage.

"Of course you couldn't have," he growls.

Seconds pass. Confusion sweeps your mind. "What's there to be angry about, then?"

"I'm—I just—oh, Jesus, Bella, I don't know!" There's a pause while he seems to contemplate what to say next, and the fury in his eyes seems to grow impossibly larger. "There's _everything_ to be angry about. You could not even _believe_ the turmoil going on inside me right now. You couldn't even understand."

That hits a nerve. "Don't you tell me I couldn't understand!" you say, and now _you're_ the one yelling. "Can you even being to imagine how broken up I've been these past few months? Do you even remotely know how painful being away from you has been?!" You don't stop—you're building momentum. "I'll answer all those questions for you. No, you _can't_! You're the one who doesn't understand, Jake."

But since you don't want to be angry at him, and you'd never wanted to be angry at him, you stop. It's too hard to be mad at Jake… too painful.

The look on his face is a solid, emotionless mask. Strange enough, tears trickle silently down his cheeks, but he doesn't acknowledge them. A frown seems to be engraved permanently into his skin. You want to look away from the sight; you don't want to know how much pain you've caused him…

"Sometimes…," he whispers at last, his expression unchanging. "Sometimes I wish I hated you, Bella. No—I just wish I liked you a _lot_ less." His breathing turns very irregular, and his face and eyes turn upward. A cold smile plays itself across his face, and you _hate_ that smile. "Then maybe it'd be a lot easier to live my life if I weren't so in love with you. Maybe if I… if I loved you as much as Embry loves you… I could live with that." That completely surprises you, that he'd say something like that; your bones freeze. He laughs loud (probably at the expression on your face), just once. "Don't think I don't know what's going on with you two," he murmurs dangerously. "But anyway, I guess I _should_ know what's going on 'cause I'm the one that asked Embry to do it for me in the first place. He's doing _much_ too good of a job, too, that bastard… and I know what he really thinks it's become in his mind." Jacob frowns, and so do you.

And silently, you agree with him; you know how Embry feels.

Jacob turns his eyes to look at you now, though his head still points to the sky. And suddenly, that smile is no longer cold, no longer strange and unwelcoming. It's the smile you've grown to love, the smile that could bright up your day in an instant. It was just a _smile_—but it was also your whole world.

"I should hate you, Bells," he murmurs, but his voice isn't hostile or angry. It's gentle and soft and soothing and calm, even if the words are not so much. With two strides he has you in his arms again. Gratefully, you weep into his bare skin. "So, why don't I hate you?"

"Yes," you quietly agree. "You _should_ hate me. And I don't know why you don't. I guess you're _fool _or something." The words probably sting you more than him. You don't mean them, anyway, so you don't know why they hurt. "You _are_ wrong about one thing, though."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," you mumble, voice shaking. "Chances are it wouldn't be easier for you to live your life if you weren't in love with me." You actually hadn't had anything to say before you'd started speaking this theory, but it immediately makes sense in your head and you know it's true. "I'd always go back for you, you know. And then I'd know just what you feel like when you wish you hated me so badly, and you'd probably think it's what I deserved for loving you. But I don't wish I hated you, Jacob," you whisper, suddenly too weak to speak as strongly as before. "Never would I wish I hated you."

"Hm," Jacob mumbles simply, lazily. "Lucky for you."

His words make you feel strange, like maybe they probably weren't the best ones he could say. But he doesn't seem to know this; he doesn't seem to regret saying anything.

Like before, his hot lips find their way up and down the side of your face, brushing every so often against your noise, causing you to shiver. A light drizzle of rain continues above you, and you can sense the both of you are completely worn out from arguing, and completely content. You never know how the arguing starts, but you absolutely _hate_ when it does.

"Ugh," he mutters suddenly, as if in disgust. His lips never stop circling the path of your hairline, down your temple, across your chin, and back again. Your heart beats erratically in your chest and you're breathing _much_ too hard.

And then Jacob's lips veer off their regular path, finding a way above _your_ lips, below your nose, stopping for a long time to repeatedly to kiss the skin there. You're shivering uncontrollably in his arms, and you know you should probably do something to stop this (even if he's not kissing your lips exactly—yet—but it's close enough), but you don't stop him. You don't _want_ to stop him. And you know you wouldn't be able to, anyhow. So you don't.

And then suddenly you can't feel him there anymore—his face is moved away and his arms are holding you only lightly, and his lips aren't there anymore, even if the hot trail they left _is_. The feeling of denial and disappointment strikes through you so strongly and suddenly that your knees nearly collapse right then and there. Tears sting your eyes but you're too afraid to tell him what you want, so you bite your lip hard.

"We should be getting back now," he murmurs, cheeks positively flushing, even if he's smiling ever so slightly as well. "Nat is—I mean,_ they_ _are_ probably wondering what the hell we're doing." You try not to flinch at his correction. His eyebrows pull together and a hard laugh escapes his mouth, causing you both to jump, intensifying the already-present awkwardness.

A pause stretches out for a moment, and you realize with a jolt that he's expecting you so say something. "Yeah, right," you gasp quickly. "It's… impolite to keep them waiting." Jacob nods, agreeing, and with one swift motion you are laying limp in his arms. Never was there a better time to represent you being generally so pathetic, always depending on other people. The thought makes the tears threaten to pool over, so you stop thinking about it.

"There could be more time to talk about this, if you'd like," he says in an almost inaudible husky voice, lips so close to your ear that they brush across it, and you're almost relieved to hear the same regret and wanting in his voice that _you_ are currently feeling. It makes the pain a bit more bearable to know you feel the same about each other. But, at the same time, it almost doesn't help anything one bit.

And with that, you're flying through the air in Jacob's arms like before as he heads back in the direction of his house, where you will most definitely be forced to face a most definitely disastrous evening.

Vaguely, you remember Jacob's long sleeved t-shirt he'd left behind on the branch of a tree. (Just because he is a werewolf, it doesn't mean he has the memory of an elephant—you know him well enough to know this one thing about him.) And you are almost tempted to remind him, just to be _nice_, but then again you've never been exactly _nice_—so you leave it at that and selfishly smile to yourself, against the bare skin of his chest as your hair whips around you while Jacob runs through the forest.

You sense the clouds that part temporarily for the sun to peek out around the mountains, and you can breathe easier for the time being. Jacob has always been able to do that to you.

---

**A/N:** Reviews are like cookies, honestly. (And I _really_ like cookies.)


	4. Torn

**A/N:** Wow. Less than twenty-four hours have passed since my last update. Aren't you lucky? :) (It might have something to do with the fact that I already had most of chapter four finished.)

In this one, I give you a break from Jake/Bella angst for a little bit of Bella/Embry angst. And then some more J/B angst after that. ;D

(I know this story isn't exactly living up to an M rating thus far, but I promise I'll get to that soon.)

---

**Chapter Four.**

You arrive back at the Black's house in a matter of minutes, and Jacob whispers only a few words to you (as he sets you back down on your feet) that make an uncontrollable shudder pass through your spine;

"_Don't_ fall in love with him. _For me_." You don't have to ask or even wonder what or who he's talking about. And saying nothing more, he heads back up the steps, through the front door (still shirtless, you note with a mildly smug feeling), leaving you alone on his front lawn. You decide that maybe you'd make a better impression if you wiped your eyes dry and followed him.

What he had said continues to haunt you as you ever so slowly make your way up to the house, making yourself semi-presentable along the way. (But you wouldn't dare look in a mirror just yet—you couldn't bear to.) The danger in Jacob's voice had made an absolute perfect threat. You realize with a jolt that he was threatening you, and you almost can't believe it. Your mind wanders as you think exactly what he could have been thinking. What would he do if you did fall in love with _him_… with Embry? (Not like you would, though, of course not…)

Before you're even through the door, you hear Natalie exclaim in her all of a sudden somewhat nasally voice: "What in the fuck…? Why the hell aren't you wearing a shirt?!" You then hear a muffled and embarrassed "Sorry," from Jake, but he doesn't answer her. You guess he probably headed off to get a different one.

The amusement you suddenly feel at that exclamation gives you the strength to enter the house.

---

Maybe you imagined that evening. You'd bet you imagined _everything_ that evening—it was unbelievably surreal in a… bizarre way.

But you didn't imagine anything, of course. And you're not quite sure if that should be a good or bad thing.

Dinner surprisingly goes by… flawless (or, as flawless as it could ever get). That is, if you count nothing _but_ the dinner. And yours and Embry's relationship façade continues, and it breaks your heart when you see Jacob looking at Natalie—not you. You think to yourself, _Well, it was never meant to be me, not really_.

And Natalie is a wonderful person and she's all dressed up when you see her again, like she's going to a party, and it makes her more beautiful that you could just cry. She acts as though you've been best friends your entire life and she squeals and jumps up to run and hug you when she sees you. You kind of cough into her shoulder, and try and say something semi-polite when she gushes, "You're doing well! Oh, thank God you're doing well, Bella. I thought maybe you were upset when you didn't come in the house with Jacob." She laughs; a loud, paranoid laugh.

"Of course I'm doing well," you murmur back politely, but you can tell no one believes you. Not even yourself.

And overall, the double date runs much too smoothly and the only time you and Jake touch throughout the entire thing is when his skin brushes over yours, ever so softly, when he reaches for the gravy and you reach at the gravy and you happen to want gravy at the same time. His skin was hot. That shouldn't have been surprising, though.

Natalie can't get over how much Jacob eats, and you learn a thing or two over dinner that evening: number one, she doesn't know anything about the pack. She doesn't know why Jacob eats so much. She doesn't know that Jake's a damn _werewolf_, for Christ's sake, and she definitely doesn't know she and Jacob have some strange, _destined by fate_ connection. (She thinks she just happened to get lucky one day, and she was now hooked up with a totally hot and big Native American boy who, by the way, would do absolutely anything for her. Yeah, _right_.)

You smirk while she's busy giggling and wiping food off Jake's face (it's not like you can look over there, anyhow), and feel something that probably was smugness swelling deep within your chest and you don't know why, exactly. But it all feels wrong, smiling when you know you shouldn't be.

You learn a second thing over dinner that evening.

But before you learn about that, you remember seeing the faces of two people—Jared from the pack, and Kim, his imprint. You remember the way they stared at each other, and you remember Jared's eyes appraising every tiny movement Kim's body made (and somehow not in a perverted way), and you remember how their eyes could not stay far from each other and there was hardly a moment when they didn't lock or spark for a never-ending moment. You remember their eyes reflecting back to one another the feeling of true love, and you remember feeling confusion when you first saw that look. How could you fall in love with someone so quickly and so absolutely, no questions asked? But you learned to accept it over time, of course, because back then you had basically lived with an entire wolf pack—three of which had already imprinted—and you got used to the feeling of true love around you.

But you observe how Jacob and Natalie look at each other… and somehow, it's nothing at all alike.

Jake feigns smiles and he laughs and their eyes always meet when they talk. And he smiles when they talk, and his smile is the same—but his smile his awful. Somehow you are the only one who can actually tell when Jake's happy, and he was not happy.

He smiles, but his eyes are tight… strained. He laughs, but it is always forced, coughed.

Something was wrong with Jacob's imprint, and you need to talk to Jacob right now, because you didn't have time before. You'd only had time to touch him. And that was it.

Happy conversation continues to throw itself across the table at all times, and Embry wholeheartedly calls Jacob a pig for talking with food in his mouth (although he hadn't been saying much). Natalie—or Nat, as you are starting to catch on reluctantly—laughs in delight when Embry mentions this, and she squeals affectionately with a large grin, "Oh, but you're _my_ pig! Isn't that right, Jake?" And then she crashes his lips to his, laughing into his mouth (still full of food—ew, disgusting—yet at the same time there is a yearning that _you_ could have been the one to kiss him with his mouth full of food). It's more than five seconds later when they stop, even if you didn't notice Jake kissing her back much anyways, and she giggles hysterically in a manner that suggests she may be drunk. It seems like you can't physically force your eyes to look away.

You feel Embry's body stiffen like he knows what your reaction would be to this. You feel like he knows you too well. In an attempt to make you stay, he lightly grabs your wrist, but his grip is so weak (like he intended it to be) so you don't have to make a scene of yanking your arm back.

You immaturely and selfishly excuse yourself from the table—before dinner was meant to be finished—and don't come back that evening.

You feel three pairs of eyes burning holes in your back, one pair more familiar and scorching than the others, and you don't need to turn around or even wonder who it is to automatically _know_.

But Embry's the one that follows you outside into the damp air of the early night, and you're not sure what to think about that. A small part of you wishes it were Jake to follow you out into the damp night, but of course you couldn't have expected _that_ to happen.

"Hey." His voice rumbles behind you, and you shiver, knowing it has absolutely nothing to do with the cold. You shiver harder when you feel a jacket placed lightly on your shoulders, and the hands that set that jacket there rest on your shoulders for a while. You feel his hot breath on the back of your neck, and you just stand there in the middle of the almost-dry mud, staring out into the forest. Waiting for something. Anything.

"You cold?"

"No," you admit, but that's not what's bothering you, anyway. "You are incredibly warm, Embry. I think I'd be freaked out if I was even a little bit cold right now."

He chuckles, and his arms suddenly find their way around your waist, his breathing warm and hard in the back of your neck. "That's true."

A few minutes pass and his arms are like strongholds around you as the shuddering continues. You let your back lean against his chest, and you're very comfortable. But you're uncomfortable at the same time. It's all so strange. You suddenly get a strong feeling you can talk to him right now.

"Why is Jake acting like that?" you finally whisper, still facing away from him, facing towards the forest.

You feel the unexpected question send a light, surprised jolt through Embry's body. "Like what? I didn't notice anything."

"Like… like _that_," you say. "Like how he was. They weren't like any other imprinted pair I'd seen before." You refuse to say the word _couple_, even though you know that's exactly what Jake and Natalie are.

Silence fills the air, and Embry doesn't answer you for a long time.

"Jacob loves you a lot, Bella," he finally murmurs after several minutes. Not like you're counting or anything. You wonder why Jacob hasn't come outside to check on the two of you yet. You feel he trusts Embry too much. Well, not like you _don't_ trust Embry, and Embry _is_ Jacob's best friend, but still…

"I know he does."

"You love him, too. A lot." It's not a question.

"Yes," you reply almost immediately. "Is it _that_ obvious?"

Embry catches your weak attempt at sarcasm, and chuckles into your shoulder. The sound is muffled. "Just a bit."

"I don't know why you're doing this, Embry," you say very suddenly and very off-subject, and your voice is harder than you meant for it to be.

His body reacts again at the unexpected comment. "And I don't know what you're talking about."

"The _hell you do_!" you yell suddenly, whipping quickly out of his arms to look at him, face to face, because you can't stand it anymore and you can't let this go on much longer. You don't know if he's trying to make it harder for you both in the end or if he's just playing with you, but you don't like it, no matter if you really do love Embry or not (but you do). It's never been the same. And it's all so confusing and overwhelming.

"Bella," he says, softly, and you don't know why, but you start to cry, and you curl up into his arms again, but this time you're facing him. And this time, you wrap your arms around his neck and you wrap them _tightly_, and you're crying into the fabric of his t-shirt. He doesn't hesitate in hugging you and hugging you hard, and he doesn't hesitate when he places several kisses on the top of your head.

"Ugh," he moans at last. "I'm such an awful person."

"You're not, Embry," you cry. "I'm sorry I yelled. I don't know why I did that. You're one of the best people I know."

"You only think that because you don't know the story," he says miserably, and his tone catches your attention just like that.

"Story," you repeat. Your voice is monotone, it's dead. Numb. "I hadn't realized that there was a… a _story_, Embry," you whisper, and your voice is now deadly. You try and look at his face, but it's too dark and your weak eyes can't detect as much as they should.

"Jake asked me to do all this, you know." You slowly nod into his chest. "I mean, I guess I had a feeling you knew that Jake sent me that first time I talked to you, that one morning in your truck. I dunno, you and Jake are pretty… tight like that."

"Yeah," you agree. "We are. Or _were_, at least."

"So I guess I knew that you knew him well enough to know what he would do," he says, the words flowing out of him in a rush and you can't help but laugh out loud at the complex sentence.

"I do know him pretty well," you say again, quieter. "I knew he sent you because somehow, I didn't quite get the feeling you'd come all on your own." The words you say sting him, you can see that, but you don't wonder why you don't take them back. "But anyway, the only thing I'm wondering is _why_ he sent you. That part I can't quite seem to figure out."

"He knew you were in pain, Bella," Embry whispers, and you'd never heard him talk to you that way before. "And he knew you needed someone just to talk to or at least know what he could do to help you, and I am his most trusted friend and all…" He sighs hugely. "Besides you, of course. But anyway, he sent me because he couldn't stand to send himself. Told me he couldn't stand to see your face so soon or something like that."

The words make a fresh tear in your heart and tears sting your eyes (again), but blink tightly a few times so Embry can't see. You _won't_ let him see, and you're glad he doesn't. You didn't expect him to.

"Alright," you say at last, your words coming out slowly. "But this thing with me and Jake is never, ever going to blow over if we can't just talk to each other. Embry, you don't—" You choke on emotion. "—you just don't even know what it's like when someone you love… so much… is simply ripped out of your life because of something completely out of his control. _There are no words for that feeling_." And your tears continue to spoil his dark t-shirt.

"Bella," he whispers after he lets you cry for a few minutes. "I'm guessing you never thought that _that's_ exactly what _he_ was afraid of."

"Excuse me?"

"He knows how much your bloodsu—I mean, your _Edward_ used to love you. All this time, Jake was thinking that _he'd_ come back. Don't know that?" And then your heart freezes in your chest for two reasons: number one, you _didn't _know that; number two, it didn't help anything to bring up Edward's name in a conversation about Jake. "And all this time, he was thinking that Edward would come back and he'd have to fight for you, just to be able to keep you and love you," Embry continues.

"And how do _you _know all this?" you whisper.

Embry sighs hugely, like you're a slow child. "Wolf pack shares one mind, remember?"

"…Oh. Right." You wonder why none of this talk of Edward is hurting you as bad as it used to. You only receive a small prick in your chest whenever his name is mentioned or thought. You suppose that this is a good thing, compared to how it was a few months ago. "So… I guess Jacob has thought this all in his wolf form, then, huh? Otherwise you wouldn't know."

"Yeah. More than just a few times, actually."

Moments pass as you try and find the right words to say. "Embry…" you sigh. "…I think that it's safe to say that I _know_ Edward is _not_ coming back." Your breath hitches and you really do have trouble breathing for a few seconds as you realize how true this statement most inevitably is. "So you can just go and tell Jake that. Tell him whatever, honestly! Whatever makes him happy!" You slap the heels of your hands to your eyes in an attempt to wipe away your pathetic tears. It doesn't work well. "You might as well tell him anything now, since I can't do any more. I can't do anything more to make him know I love him with every single cell in my body—there's nothing more I can do! A-And… and it's just _killing_ me, Embry, because… just 'cause there's nothing more I can… do." Your voice literally shakes with every word, and there's no stopping the explosion of tears that fall out of your eyes now.

Oh, God, crying seems to be the only thing you do nowadays.

This whole time, Embry is petting the back of your head and holding you ever-closer to his chest. It reminds you of the way Jacob used to hold you, before everything was so complicated and before there were all these monsters and magic… and it's painful.

"Embry…," you whisper, and he probably thinks your voice has that tone of longing (and it probably does), but it's not longing for him. It's longing for Jacob. And in that whisper of Embry's name, you know what you had meant to say was _Embry, you really are one of the most wonderful people I know, and I appreciate and love you a lot, but... you don't understand I'm going to have to break you if you don't let go._

But somehow your voice can't find itself, and it definitely can't find those words and it definitely can't say them.

"By the way, Bella," he says, and his voice gets impossibly huskier. And that doesn't help the tears that streak down your face. "You are _definitely_ not a shitty excuse for a person."

"Excuse me?" You can't help but kind of hysterically laugh, because all memories of that first meeting with Embry have already slipped through your mind. At least right now.

He chuckles, more softly than you did, and replies, "A week ago, in your truck, you were… ranting, and said you were a shitty excuse for a person who should love everyone in your life…" You nod, albeit numbly, more agreeing with what he says rather than recognizing, and he continues, "Well, I just want you to know that is not true. You have to love so many people all at the same time—and maybe in different ranges of love—so it's probably hard for you sometimes. But you're anything but _shitty_, alright? You love everyone, and you do an awfully good job at it, too."

"Awful...," you repeat softly, thoughtfully tracing the dark line of his t-shirt's collar with your finger.

But he just laughs. "You know I didn't mean it like—" But he doesn't finish his sentence, he abruptly cuts his words off, like he's not even physically able to continue, and his breathing hitches and his arms stiffen around you and you know something's wrong.

"Embry, what in the hell—"

But he interrupts you, speaking in a rush. "Bella, I think you should know that I really like you or love you or something like that, and maybe I won't see you so often, so I'm just going to ask you right now if I can kiss you real quick." You'd laugh at the ignorance in his voice if not for the circumstances. There's a slight pause and things are happening so much faster than you can catch up. "So, can I kiss you real quick?"

And somehow you know that when he says _real quick_, he really means it, and so you surprise the both of you by saying almost just as quickly, "Yes."

But you don't mean to, and you know it wasn't anything close to what you probably should have said (and you'll probably regret it later—most _definitely_, actually), but you can't take it back now because his warm lips are suddenly on yours and the world seems to stop for about two seconds.

And just as quickly as it all happened, it's over, and you don't know what 'it' is exactly. You can't feel him anymore, save for his leather jacket that was laid on your shoulders in what now seems like a century ago, and your eyes are opening (you hadn't remembered closing them) and you're watching silently as Embry backs up away from you, slowly. But the coldness hits you automatically, and you shiver and you hardly register Embry telling you to pull your arms through the sleeves of the jacket, and that you can give it back to him whenever. He doesn't really care.

"Bella? Embry?" A familiar and cautious voice cuts through the silence of the night from the porch light and from the front door not more than maybe ten yards away, as well as cuts through yours and Embry's (maybe silent—you don't remember) conversation. You know that voice, but it shocks you anyway, and Embry's quick reaction a few seconds ago suddenly makes sense and suddenly you decide that maybe in Embry's arms right now is not the best place to be, not the best impression to make. So you are grateful that that is not where you are. (And yet, somehow you have the feeling that Jake already _knows_.)

You're surprised enough that you flinch backwards, and Embry (surprisingly) leaves you be. Jacob wouldn't have let you fall; he would have caught you before you had chance to stumble an inch, but you try not to think about that. Of course you trip over your own feet, onto your bottom and into the mud, and you're flustered and bewildered and your face burns red.

"Oops," is the last word you hear Embry say that night in a somewhat embarrassed tone, and he excuses himself without a word (and without helping you up) and he very nearly sprints back to the Black's house, shutting the door not-so-softly behind him. Jacob doesn't even seem to notice Embry pushing past him through the door. He's just staring at you, and his expression is one mixed between confusion and anger and disbelief.

Oh yeah, he _definitely_ knows.

Well, shit.

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**A/N:** I'm afraid to say updates might be a bit less frequent from here on out, but I'll get the next chapter up as soon as possible. Reviews are always nice. But I hate cliff hangers as much as my readers. :(


	5. Broken

**A/N:** Sorry it has taken me so long to get his one up. But I warned you, didn't I?

I guess I should warn you that Bella's a bit OC—and by that I mean using more vulgar language than she usually would, being fiercer than she usually is. I like a _fierce_ Bella better than a _pitiful_ Bella. (Although I guess I should also warn you that Bella's kind of pitiful here.)

But anyway, here ya go:

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**Chapter Five.**

In between the time in which Jacob stares at you with a somehow outraged expression (you're still on the ground, and you catch on that he's not going to help you get up) and when he finally begins to speak… you take that time to _think_. Think about everything that's just recently happened, because everything is far too confusing and Jacob doesn't look like he's about to speak too soon. You feel like maybe you should be paying attention to the way his eyes carefully scale your body, his eyebrows scrunching together, but you don't. You feel like you might get a time for staring at him later. So you just stare at the ground, carefully avoiding that menacing look in his eye, knowing you'll feel nothing but guilt if you avert your eyes.

So, you get why Embry made such a hasty decision and escape. Of course, with super-powered werewolf senses, it's no wonder he heard Jacob making his way through the house to outside to check on what in the world you and Embry were up to. You know Jacob probably already _knew _even before he'd opened the door, even if the shocked and betrayed expression on his face didn't suggest as much.

Something you couldn't really figure out, though, is if this was how Jacob meant everything to be—between you and Embry, that is. He hadn't explained things well enough in the forest… things were still too vague. Maybe he hadn't wanted to talk about the concept of you being with anyone else in the first place, which, of course, would be completely understandable. (After all, it _was_ a painful concept for the both of you.) Isn't that what Jacob had wanted in the first place—someone to be there for you when _he_ couldn't? What else could he have expected if he had _forced_ you and Embry together?

But he hadn't really forced anything, had he? You chose it. You said _yes_ when Embry asked if he could kiss you. (Oh, God, why the fuck did you say _yes_?!)

But why should Jacob care if he had someone for his own now—someone who, from the moment Jake was born, had always been destined to be with him? She was his imprint. It only made sense.

You used to think that Jake was just the definition of the way things were supposed to be. You think you might even still think that… but it was hard to think of Jake that way when things were how they were, with all these monsters and magic.

Although these thoughts take about two seconds to contemplate over, you have no more time for thinking now, because Jacob is taking those few steps between the two of you, and you cannot even think of anything anymore except for the sudden warmth of his hand around yours as he gently hauls you to your feet. He leaves you there and backs up and continues to stare like you may just be a strange and dangerous animal that could quite possibly attack him if he stepped too close. You'd agree with him, of course, if that's what he _was_ thinking.

You mildly dust off your jeans out of habit, not really caring whether they were smothered in mud or not.

The leather jacket you still wear—_Embry's_ jacket—around your shoulders seems to be only an item of undeniable proof… or evidence. Of what, you are not really sure. But that jacket is screaming what Jacob would probably be better off not hearing (even though you know he already knows), so you violently shake your shoulders and the jacket easily falls to the ground at your feet. Jacob's eyes waver for half a second to where it fell, but there's no sign of emotion on his face.

"I shouldn't have disturbed you," he mutters at last and anxiously glances back towards the house. "You and Embry seemed to be enjoying yourselves." His voice is sneering, and you flinch.

"N-not exactly," you manage to stutter. "I don't know why you'd think that." _Had_ you been enjoying yourself? You can't remember feeling happy when Embry's warm lips pressed to yours for what seemed like a fraction of a second, although you knew it was much longer than that. You didn't feel anything but bewilderment and then pain when Jacob saw you.

Jacob just _laughs_, a loud, hard laugh that makes your throat constrict and causes your fingers to tingle and twitch unpleasantly. Heat rises to your cheeks in less than a second and you're feverishly angry that he would just laugh at you like that. You _hate_ it when Jacob acts like this, and you're always angry when he does. Even though you know it's your fault.

He doesn't really make a response; he just continues to laugh for a few seconds while you continue to seethe in anger. After a while, his laughing sounds hysterical… more like crying than laughing. Maybe you're just imagining things. He finally stops and a look of pure madness is on his face.

"I warned you, I think," he says in an absentminded tone, and his lips hardly seem to move.

Somehow, there is a feeling growing deep within your chest that can only be described as _shame_ as he continues to speak to you in a tone that is oddly far away from scolding, but you know for a fact that somehow you _are_ receiving a scolding.

Jacob continues in the same indifferent tone that bothers you so much more than it probably should. "Maybe it's all my fault, but anyway, I didn't warn you for _my_ sake." He stares hard at your face now and the muscles above his eyebrows tense. The space separating you from him only intensifies the hostility in his voice when he speaks again. "I mean, I _told_ you to listen for my sake, but I lied. It's gonna be absolute _hell_ for you, Bells." His voice breaks and he breathes a deep, shuddering breath—it's so large, you can feel the warmth of wind from where you are standing.

You get the feeling he doesn't want to admit it'd be hell for the _both_ of you.

The shame is building so large in your chest now that you can't bear to speak. Anything to come out would be nothing but foolish and harmful to the already delicate situation.

"So I'm just here to tell you that it's not your fault." Jacob's eyes hesitate as he pulls them away from yours, and they lower slightly to stare at something behind you. Something only slightly to your left. You know he's not staring at you, yet you can't help but feel self-conscious. And you can't gather up the courage to look behind yourself to wonder what has held his interest.

The dead, emotionless and indifferent look returns to his face as he stares away, and his eyes almost visibly glaze over. The look of everything about him frightens you but you are beyond yourself to know what to do. Walk over and physically comfort him? Not an option. Orally comfort him? That wouldn't help anything if he could hear that your words were not true. But _would_ they be true if you tried?

"But never mind," he says at last, and his words are hardly audible. "I'll stop bothering you now. I guess—well, you know—you and _him_ can go off and do whatever. Doesn't help either of us to keep seeing each other. Not like this." These words send an uncontrollable spasm of panic through your body, and you start shivering—though not because of the cold—and begin sweating up a storm at the same time—despite the freezing air.

"I can stop interfering with your life now." Jacob's words are nothing but calm, and surprise seems to flash through his eyes as the both of you register this fact. But right now, the tone of his voice is the _last _thing that matters—the only thing you can think about is how you know how strongly he means what he said. And you both know it could never be that easy.

You can't breathe.

"No," you finally gasp, and your words are anything but calm. "It could never be that way, Jake! You and I both know that… that, well, it can't be that way between me and… and Embry." You don't bother to take note of how many times your voice breaks. You take a deep breath before continuing, and the action is painful to your lungs. "I can never love anyone else like I have you," you continue, "and I love you because I know no other way." At least that much is undeniably true.

The glare in his eye could be that of a corpse… a zombie. And Jacob contradicts you. "I wish I could tell you how wrong you are," he whispers solemnly. "About the last part, at least. I thought you… knew more ways to love than just one." He coughs loudly, and his hands begin to shake. They match the way yours shake, as well. "But I'm not here to lecture you or anything. I'm sick of trying to…" But he doesn't finish his sentence. The shaking in his hands stops as abruptly as it began, but you can't force your body to stop.

The familiar sound of crickets chirping begins in the background of your conversation, and it surprises you that you could have even noticed such a thing in the midst of all the numbness.

Moments pass, and you wonder if Jacob might be thinking twice about what he's doing to you. But you were never the lucky one, after all.

"I'm sorry," he says simply, all sign of compromise you had thought you'd seen now gone.

And with that, he (not as gracefully as usual) turns around to walk back to the house.

"No!" you say again, yelling this time. You manage to gather a strong enough voice to make him stop in his tracks. But he doesn't turn around. "_Please_, Jacob! Don't—_please_ don't… do this." You'd never been colder in your entire life than at that moment. "_You can't do this_…," you whisper. At the hesitation he seems to make, you build up the strength to scream what you've wanted say for a long time. Your voice is sure and strong, and it all flows out in a rush. "It's not the same with me and Embry! Jake, I'm really sorry I kissed him, but you don't even understand... I—I'll end whatever there was with me and him… and… and you and me could—" You can't find the nerve to finish. You change your mind and speak again on another chain of thought. "It's not fair of you to act this way _just because_—"

"Bullshit! Just because _nothing_!" he yells quite loudly, turning on you and causing you to recoil. "You know we'll just keep facing this problem over and over again. It's no use trying to compromise. We can't keep doing this anymore." He pauses for a moment, sucking in a breath of air. His shoulders quiver and shake uncontrollably, along with his hands. You wonder for a moment why Jacob doesn't phase right then and there… and then you feel a pang of sadness as you realize he is controlling that wild side of him just for _you_. You know you don't deserve it—in fact you'd welcome death right now if the opportunity came, even if Jacob was the one who gave you your wish.

Jacob faces halfway from you again, but doesn't go anywhere. You notice how his fists clench and unclench through the darkness. His breathing is ragged and scratchy and loud. Then you realize he is crying. Never did you have a stronger impulse to rush up to him and wrap your short-in-comparison arms around his large frame, never had you once wanted to give him what _he_ wanted more than right at that moment—when he's sobbing, when you both feel completely alone.

You could give him everything, you realize. You could let go of your damaged past and you could let what's supposed to happen, _happen_. Would it really be that hard? If only… if only Jacob would _let_ you. You could love him forever and never care about anything else. You could give him the life you knew you both had always wanted with each other. Did he not respect that? Did he not realize how true this could be, if only he'd give you a chance?

Did he not see that you could change _everything_ for the better?

Apparently not. And it'd be no use to try and convince him of this now. His mind seems set on leaving, and _only_ that. Jacob had always been a hard person to persuade. He was stubborn, just like you. But _this_—the mere thought of him leaving you forever, even if not physically—sent frustrated spasms through your body. You could willingly be everything he ever wanted you to be if only he gave you a chance!

But then you realize he had given you the chance—much too many times, as a matter of fact. Maybe it was sick and tired of you not doing anything about it. You regret how you hadn't found that out before, how you hadn't fell in love with him until just this moment… when he was already imprinted with someone else.

"We have to walk away from each other sooner or later. I don't know about you, but I choose_ sooner_," Jacob continues roughly… bitterly. Few seconds had passed before he interrupted your mental blahs. "Or, I guess, unless later wouldn't make it as painful as I think it would. But I know it would."

You can't say anything to contradict or deny this. You both know it's true, but you also know you're selfish, even if Jacob doesn't. You would choose _later_, and you know that would tear him up more than you. You didn't want him gone yet. You didn't know when exactly you wanted him gone, but now was not the time.

Jacob seems to take your moment of silence as confirmation to his spoken opinions (but they're not really opinions, for they are really _facts_ and you both know it). You'd meant for your silence to be taken that way, anyway. So your silence served its purpose. You never wanted Jacob to know this, though.

And then you realize something that you can't believe you'd never thought until just now.

"H-how come you're not bringing up… Natalie?" you whisper hesitantly. "Isn't _imprinting _on someone else reason enough to leave me?"

"Yeah. Sure it is," he says quickly. His voice is stiff. But he doesn't continue and he doesn't answer your first question. You immediately know something's up.

"Jacob…," you prompt. "There's… something else. You're not telling me everything about _her_."

"There's nothing to else to say. Natalie is… everything you've seen of her." An unsure look comes across his face. "She's… great."

You realize you've now caught on to something. You clutch at it desperately—_anything_ to possibly keep Jacob here for a few more seconds, to stall for however long possible. (It probably couldn't be any more than a few seconds.) You'd launch at any chance you got, no matter how trivial. You could care less about his fucking _girlfriend_.

You trust your voice to gather strength and not give you away. "I'm assuming you think everything I've seen of her is… _appealing_ to me?" You laugh once in faint surprise at how he could be so stupid.

"I never said that she's _appealing_," he spits, glaring at you hard. "But that doesn't mean she's not, either."

Now that surprises you. You put on a brave face and reply in an exaggerated sarcastic voice, "_Really_?"

"Ugh, Bella! Just—stop assuming things when you have no idea what you're talking about." His fists are clenching and unclenching like he'd probably like to strangle something, or someone. "I did just say she's great, didn't I? And I wouldn't kiss her if I didn't love—_like_ her." Jacob corrects himself too late, making you flinch.

"How can you be sure?" you taunt, not willing to let him see through your façade of bravery. "She _is_ your imprint, after all. Maybe that's also something you never told me about—that somehow it's physically impossible to not kiss your imprint whenever the chance arises."

"Even if that damn idea _were _logical, you're sort of right. Maybe I _wouldn't_ tell you." That cuts right through your heart and brings back unpleasant memories of Jacob treating you like this before. "But whatever. I don't want to talk about this anymore. S'none of your fucking business, anyway."

You are positively fuming with anger; you want to yell in his face and give him an idea of just how much it _is_ your fucking business, but you know saying that wouldn't help anything.

God, why did he have to be so _damn_ stubborn?

Jacob doesn't really give you a chance to reply to his rude remark (which you can proudly say you didn't flinch away from). He continues speaking in a deadly serious tone, not as bitter as before. "But you have to understand that _this_"—he gestures to the few feet of space between you and him, the few feet that painfully separate you, and you instantly understand—"was not the result of Embry… or even Natalie," he tacks on the name reluctantly. "Alright? I guess this was a bad time to finally get the guts to finally go"—he chokes on his words—"but you just need to understand this would have happened sooner or later. I'm sorry I've let this go on for so long…"

A strange sense of déjà vu passes over you for an instant. The only difference from the _last time_ is that _this time_ is infinitely more painful. You'd never have even believed that you could ever experience more pain than when _Edward_ left you all those months ago. (Had it almost been a year? You'd lost count.) Somehow, you aren't amazed that the mere thought of his name doesn't send stabs of pain through you like it used to. You knew it was because you'd met your match when you'd thought you'd been limited to only so much pain already—and it was more than killing you inside. The pain you'd faced once at thinking Edward's name was nothing now. Absolutely _nothing_—at least not before _this_ night.

The night Jacob was leaving you.

"I'll still be here, though," he says suddenly, and you wonder for a moment if he could read your mind (it always had seemed that way, anyway). "I mean, _physically_ I won't run away—not yet. So… that way I could always still be within easy driving distance—I mean, if you ever wanted to—" He breaks off and sobs harder, his body shaking so uncontrollably that you wonder how in the hell it was possible that he hadn't phased yet. _Why_ wouldn't he phase under so much torment? Was he really that good at controlling himself?

You feel a bit guilty the instant you doubt his self-control; you always knew Jacob could handle himself… but_ you_ can't handle yourself, that's for certain.

The fact is your head is swimming dizzily under the pressure and overwhelming truth and meaning of his words. Your entire body throbs with the fact that Jacob was _actually_ going to leave… he was actually going to leave you. You knew it only hurt because you thought Jacob could never do that to you, never actually hurt you as strongly as _Edward_ had hurt you. You'd always taken it for granted that Jacob was just there; just a natural part of life, and comfort that was impeccably and immovably valid in every way. You thought he could never _really_ leave you. He'd always been someone you could count on, someone you knew could never break you as badly as Edward had…

Not to mention the fact that he'd _promised_.

But there were just broken promises all around, weren't there? So you don't know why you are hurt so much if you knew what was coming. (Even if you hadn't exactly expected this.)

"I'll be going now," Jacob mutters quietly but just loud enough for you hear him. His foots hesitates toward direction of his house.

You're hyperventilating when you jolt forward to grab firmly to his warm arm (oh, _God_, it was _warm_), desperately wishing for him to stay. "No," you choke as the tears fall silently down your cheeks. "We can fix this, Jake. There's _always_ a compromise."

Jacob fully faces you to give you a crazed look, his eyes scrunched up and wide at the same time, like it was literally killing him inside to do this to you. But why? He hadn't imprinted with _you_. Why would it hurt _him_ so much? You'd think it would be easier to focus on that one person you imprinted with, and never care about anyone else.

Then again, Jacob was _not_ like anyone else—not in the wolf pack, not in the entire world.

He slips out of your hold on his arm easily, in turn grabbing your arms and pulling them down to your sides without effort so you feel like a mental person being strapped down—_definitely_ against your will. But you can't fight against his grasp, so you don't. He's too strong and you both know it.

The déjà vu of it all this makes you want to throw up.

"One more thing," he says suddenly, like he'd just decided on something.

Jacob lets go of your arms and before you can even realize what he's doing, he's leaning into you hard leaning his head down dramatically and quickly grabbing a hold of your waist and pressing his hot lips to yours—more like _crushing, _actually. There's a very uncomfortable edge to the way his lips move against yours. It's urgent, anxious… painful.

And you get the feeling he wants this to be the last time.

You _still _can't comprehend what the hell he's trying to do when his lips are forcing yours open and his hot breath is mixing with your own, making you shiver spastically. And even when you feel the wetness of his tongue brushing more-than-lightly against your lips, and even when he continues to move his burning lips against yours in strange ways your lips had never moved before, and even when he moans _I still love you_ against your lips… even when all of these things happen, you still don't realize he's trying to kiss you, and probably trying make you feel better.

But you don't feel better. No matter if you'd wanted to kiss him for more time than you could count (you _had_ stopped counting time, after all), you still don't feel any atmosphere of relief or joy or anything close to the two when his warm arms constrict around you to bend you into the shape of his body… when he continues to kiss in such a way that could be regarded as something close to violence.

You don't stop him, though. You don't do anything. Your lips are unmoving against his because you still haven't figured you should probably kiss him back. You don't do anything but continue to cry.

Why the hell was Jacob doing this? Was he _trying_ to torment you? (Of course he wasn't.)

Moments pass that seem like hours, and then you can't feel his lips anymore (just like before… why had you wanted to kiss him before? If it was going to cause you all this pain?). You dare to open your eyes a fraction of an inch to see the same mad look on his face. Something is different, though, and you can't really figure out what it is. You don't dare to open your eyes to get a clearer look.

Jacob walks back far suddenly, releasing you from his hold and again placing several feet between you like you could be a fatal disease that would most certainly kill him. (And you _were_, in a way.) You shiver hard at the sudden burst of cold that overwhelms you. Jacob was so warm. You _needed _Jacob. You're still too numb and shocked to reach out to him and pull him back to you like you had before. It was like it was physically impossible to force your arm out and hold him… or even just _touch_ him…

And then only two words quietly escape his mouth before your fucked up life becomes even more fucked up. How exactly was that possible? (But then you decide it was about time you stopped feeling sorry for yourself—yet you _can't_ stop. How pitiful is_ that_?)

"_Goodbye_, Bella," Jacob says in a whisper that somehow turns out to be strained, sure, quiet, and about a million other emotions at the same time.

In one swift movement, he changes his original course from the house into the darkness of the woods, absolutely sprinting like his life depends on it before he is completely concealed and you can't see him anymore… and you can't breathe anymore. He was shaking convulsively before he hit the trees.

And with that, Jacob disappears.

Only a few seconds after he's _gone_, it begins to rain like it had earlier that evening. You continue to stare at the spot he disappeared through (which suddenly looks very dark and haunted), and allow the rain to pour down along with your tears.

---

**A/N:** The next chapter is already on its way. Hold tight. I promise it'll get more interesting soon. :)

P.S. I apologize there's so little dialogue... I also apologize it's so depressing. But if you didn't want to read an angst story, then I don't know why you're here. :)


	6. Hopeful

**A/N:** WOW. I am so sorry for the freakishly long time it took me to update! You wouldn't believe how hectic things have been for me lately. I'll treat you to a bit of a longer chapter… I think.

In this chapter… things get a _bit _more eventful, or at least _I_ think so. Most of the events described here popped into my head as I wrote them. None of the plot of this story is set in stone, actually, but I think this quite fits in to the immediate situation.

I've decided to rate this fic back to T, at least while everything is mildly non-M-rated. A change of the summary also might help out a few readers to find out if this is what they really want to read.

Thanks for all the reviews thus far.

---

**Chapter Six.**

In what could be called a haze, you slosh and stumble through the growing mud to where your truck sits and you climb in. Somehow you forget to shut the door behind you, and the cold of the wind and rain blows through the open truck door, making you impossibly colder with every drop of rain that touches you.

Minutes pass and you can't calm down enough to turn the keys in the ignition. You give up after two attempts and spread your body out on the seat to lie on your back, soaked wet and muddy and looking probably more awful than you had in a long time. A sudden wave of utter exhaustion is tangible as you close your eyes, blowing you back against the seat with a surprising force that leaves you even more breathless than before. With that, you cry harder and hope for sleep to come soon, but nothing could force you into unconsciousness now, unfortunately.

And all throughout the night, while you lie there pitying yourself, you can't help but think over and over, _He left me. He actually left me_. The pain you feel now is a new kind of pain, a horrid feeling _all over_ your body that causes you to scream several times throughout the night. And you still can't sleep.

The rain does finally stop, although you thought it never would. And when you sense the first light of dawn after what seems like a century of lying in your truck with the door open and your legs hanging halfway out into the misty air, you hear his voice.

But it wasn't the voice you wanted to hear.

"Oh, _Bella_," Embry sighs miserably. The tone in his voice indicates he could be rolling his eyes. Yes, the rolling of eyes would be perfect to go with that tone. And you _hate_ that tone.

You don't open your eyes. Or maybe you _can't_ open your eyes. Maybe it was physically impossible or maybe you forgot how to. But whatever the case, you did not open your eyes.

You see a shadow hover over your body through your closed eyelids, in the dim light of the morning, but you still don't look to see what it is. Strong, large, and most importantly _warm_ arms find their way underneath you to effortlessly lift you upright, and you clutch on desperately although you know they're not the arms you'd like to be held in right now. He positions you in a semi-sitting position, your head leaning against his shoulder while the sound of your truck roaring to life is heard, along with the slamming of a car door. The loudness of your truck's engine (and most importantly, the very abruptness of it) causes your eyes to jolt open in surprise.

He's there—Embry is—sitting to your left, fumbling with the controls of your ancient truck, getting it into to gear and pulling out of Jacob's nonexistent driveway, and you feel the car moving...

Oh,_ Jacob_—

The pain that awakens your body causes you to cry and spit and scream and gasp for air, and—for once—you really don't give a fuck about who sees you. Especially not Embry.

His warm arm wraps easily around your waist in an attempt to comfort you, but you're too weak to do anything about it.

He drives you back to your house that morning, and you're only vaguely aware of Charlie yelling questions at Embry, and maybe at you—"_What the hell is this all about? Where has she been? What happened to her? Why wouldn't Billy answer the damn phone? Where's Jacob?" _(That one makes you wince in Embry's arms and you whisper for Charlie to please, _please_ stop yelling at Embry. This isn't his fault.)

Everything else is a blur. Unlike before, Charlie doesn't insist to carry you into the house and into your bedroom; Embry does that part. Charlie uncharacteristically doesn't follow him up the stairs. At least that much you can sense. You can only sense the presence of Embry and no one else. It's as though there's a black piece of translucent gauze laid over your eyes. Shapes and forms mean nothing. The only things you can see are colors. And even the colors are a jumbling, confusing mixture of blacks and whites and grays… and occasionally reds…

Embry lays you down on your bed without a sound, and you make absolutely no movement. You're nothing; you're a shadow; you're dead.

He hauls a heavy blanket over your body (still fully clothed, shoes included—and still fully dirty) but the blanket does nothing to eliminate the cold.

Still unspeaking, his face is coming closer and closer and you wonder why. Just a trick of your flawed vision? But before you can stop anything, he kisses you, his lips soft and tense at the same time. It's very short and very sweet, unlike how it'd been yesterday evening (you flinch, trying not to think about that afternoon), and you don't kiss him back, of course. Your body won't let you, as much as your mind knows you _should_.

Then all warmth leaves you and you open your eyes just barely to notice Embry silently plunging out of your room and down the stairs and out of the house.

Sleep _does_ come, eventually, whether you want it to or not. You can't possibly hold off the unbelieving feeling of exhaustion that engulfs you once again after Embry was no longer present. You fall asleep within the first few seconds of silence. (Or, at least it was silence to you. Maybe everything would be silent to you from now on.) You gasp pitifully into the folds of your sheets when you're alone, and then everything is suddenly black.

That night, you dream. Horrid, awful, dark dreams that involve a confusing mixture of a dark-skinned boy and the forest. Two dark-skinned boys, actually. One of them screams your name before both of them plunge into the darkness of the brown-hued forest far, far away from where you stand, and you weep into the strange black water that surrounds you. Weakly, you fall to your knees and are swallowed up as well. You don't attempt to call out for help. No one is there to help you, anyway.

A beautiful image appears to the right of your vision, and it somehow adds to the roar of water in your ears. The image has a face. The face is white… _his_ face is white. And it's that of an angel, cropped with golden-bronze hair in a messy array above his perfect, liquid topaz eyes.

The image follows you as you sink deeper, deeper, deeper in the black water, never reaching the bottom and never reaching anywhere. He doesn't speak until the outline of his body eventually fades away into darkness. "Bella," he says. And that's it. And then Edward's gone.

But when everything goes silent and all you can hear is the frantic sputtering of your fragile heart as you sink ever deeper, nothing is real anymore. And your eyes are painfully blinded in the light.

---

Two fairly uneventful days later, in the morning, a very tired-looking Charlie bursts through the door of your bedroom and you attempt to quiet your screams from your most recent nightmare for his sake. And you didn't want to hurt him—you'd been trying your hardest to avoid freaking him out as much as you were now. You could plainly see from the look on his face that he was freaking out. Freaking out a _lot_. You'd never screamed as horrifically as you had that night. (Now, how was that possible?)

"Bella, Bella!" Charlie yells at you through the screams that are still ripping through your throat. You can't seem to stop them, and you clutch to your pillow like your life depends on it, burying your face into the fabric as to somewhat muffle yourself. "Bella! Please, honey, _please _stop and tell me what's wrong." His voice is desperate and frustrated.

"I… I'm…," you gasp, but you can't find yourself enough to stop the strange, rasping yelps that still come out of your throat in painful ways.

"Bells, baby," Charlie says again, quieter now. His voice is exasperated, tired, and it breaks through your heart enough close your mouth hard, muffling the screams. "Is there _anything _I can do?"

A few seconds pass as you calm yourself. You wipe your face with the sheets of your bed, not caring how much snot or tears spoiled them. Blinking hard to get the tears out of your eyes enough to clearly see his face, you reply to Charlie's question, hardly taking a moment to think about your answer. "No," you manage to whisper at last. You shake your head hopelessly. "I really don't think so, Dad. I—I'm sorry."

The weakness in your muscles makes it difficult for you to sit up, but you manage to. You restlessly lean your back against the headboard and look at Charlie's desolate expression. You arms tremble and it's difficult to breathe while you realize how much this is really hurting him. Can't you get over something like this, just for his sake? Charlie was always the most important person in your life, as much as you constantly contradict yourself otherwise. No matter how much you may love Jacob—you flinch as you think the name—it was always _Charlie_ who gave you life, love, and easy happiness that comes with childhood. It was him you should be worrying most about.

"I'm sorry," you repeat, and your voice shakes. "This is something that… that I'll learn to get over by myself."

"_When_, Bella?" he stresses, his face turning an awful color of red, but you know it's not because he's angry at you. You cringe away from the frustration clearly displayed in his words. "When can I stop worrying about you enough to get a full night's rest? When can I know that _you'll_ do the same?" He doesn't give you enough time to answer any of those questions—it appears he's in ranting mode. "I can understand how hard breakups are—I broke up with the love of my life, too, you know! But I already told you how I got over that a _long_ time ago. I know what you had with this boy was something else than I've ever seen, but I'm going to lay down on the table right now that how much you loved Edward is more than unnatural, it's completely bizarre—"

"Edward? Dad, you think this is about _Edward_?" you interrupt him, your voice still not strong enough. Charlie probably couldn't have known otherwise, you knew that, but had he not just witnessed the last few months you'd had without Jacob? Or did he really think you were lingering on the nightmares you'd stopped having months ago?

Charlie's eyes grow wide and questioning, ranting mode off. "Isn't it?" he asks in a much smaller voice than before, but his complexion doesn't get any less redder at this revelation.

"No, it's not, not really," you whisper, looking down at your quilt and feeling almost embarrassed. "Dad, I—I agree the love me and… and _Edward_ share is not exactly… normal. I came to terms with that a long time ago. But—Jacob was the one that was always there—"

"Wait, wait, wait." Charlie's the one to interrupt you this time. "You're confusing me with your… past and present tenses of the words you're using." His face scrunches up like he's concentrating on something hard. You know exactly what he means when he says 'past and present tenses'. "The love you and Edward _share_?" he asks. "I thought that was over a long time ago. And"—he holds up a hand to stop you before you can contradict him—"you said Jacob _was_ the one—not _is_. Bella, I honestly feel like I don't even have any clue at all what the hell's going on with your love life." Now he's turning angry.

You feel the blood rush to your cheeks, and his accusations only further your embarrassment. "I wish I could tell you Dad, because I honestly don't know, either."

"I don't believe that," he growls. "One day, you're off skipping and laughing with Jake, and the next day I come in here and find you howling in fright from a nightmare you had. And then—I mean, and _now_—Embry has to come into the mix? Bella, I… I just want to know who in the hell is making my daughter's life so miserable. I'm sick and tired of feeling so helpless. I want to kick someone's ass already, Bella." He glares at you hard, and you know he means it.

You can't help but grin a little bit anyway.

"Dad," you say, humor creeping into your voice in the midst of all the tension and sadness. "You don't have to do anything like that. It's not their fault."

"Well, then _who's fault is it_?"

You sigh. "Mostly mine, actually."

Charlie shakes his head back and forth. The movement suggests hopelessness, and you know that's just exactly what he's feeling. "Bella, I can't work with that answer."

"I understand that." You bite your lip, not wanting to delve any deeper into the topic.

He just stares at you, scrutinizing your face like perhaps he could read more there than what you originally told him. If this moment had happened about a year ago, you'd have been ridiculously easy to read. But you'd had practice since then—practice protecting yourself and your secrets from those who were much too intuitive (even though Charlie probably didn't count in that category). Someone like Jacob.

You realize, though, just how impossible it really was to keep secrets from _him_. And it was much, much more than his intuition, you know that. Sometimes it seemed like he knew you like the back of his hand. Ironically, you probably knew the back of Jacob's hand better than you knew yourself. You both went hand-in-hand with one another. It was impossible to deny you too were made for each other. It only made sense.

So… why in the hell did imprints have to be involved in it all? If you and Jacob were always meant to be? What was the meaning of complicating everything with something as mythical and magical as an imprint?

You'd always believed that even if you might not like the outcome of some things, whatever had just happened was _no_ accident, and was always meant to be that way. Then again, you and Jacob weren't at the end of your rope—yet. You still had time to fix things. …Didn't you?

In the time that Charlie studies your face, a faint glimmer of hope grows in the depths of your rotting chest. A hope that could—quite possibly—save what had always meant to be.

"Bella." Charlie interrupts your half-epiphany, most likely seeing less devastation on your face than there had been before. That makes you even happier, even more hopeful that maybe this all could turn out okay, and you wouldn't need to hurt Charlie any more than you already had. But you decide that you'd have to stop hoping or sooner or later. (In your mind, not to be seen in your expression, you choose later). "I'm going to trust you to figure this all out on your own," Charlie continues, "for as long as you possibly need to. Or for as long as is healthy for you. If I notice that things aren't getting better, it's gonna be time for me to step in and doing something about it. And I'm gonna give some boy one hell of a time." A grim expression reaches his face, and a pang of sadness shoots through your chest.

"Hopefully… it won't come to that," you mutter.

"Don't count on it," Charlie grumbles, and he heaves himself up by his elbows from where he'd been leaning against your bed, causing the springs to squeak unpleasantly. He stops in the doorway before exiting. "I'll always be here for you, Bells," he says in a husky mumble. "You can always count on that. I hope I'm the first, or, _one_ of the first"—you flinch guiltily as you understand what he implies—"people you go to whenever you're having trouble with something."

Charlie sighs loudly before closing the door behind him. His loud footsteps clomp down the stairs, and eventually the sounds of opening and closing cupboards inform you that it's late enough in the morning to have breakfast.

You glance at the alarm clock on your night stand. It reads in plain green text 4:51.

You do a double-take before having second thoughts about the whole late-enough-in-the-morning thing. And then you realize that neither you nor Charlie could fall back asleep after what'd just happened. Not until night came again. (You dread the thought of night coming, although of course it would be inevitable. So why hope?)

"Four-fifty-one," you murmur out loud, thoughtful. "Or… four-fifty-_two_ now, I guess. What would be too early…?"

In intentional and decided movements, you get yourself ready for the unpredictable day ahead of you.

---

You grab no more than an apple in your rush to be out of the house, planning to chomp on it on the way there. The warmth of the house disappears as the front door slams behind you and is replaced by the freezing cold temperature of the outside. The air is misty yet calm and immediately cools your face in an unpleasant manner. You sense your ears might already be red before you'll even make the short walk to your truck. The sun hasn't yet made its way over the horizon—only a faint outline of light that lines the mountains gives you a clue (well, _that_ gives a clue, as well as that, before you walked out of the house, the clock over the stove read 5:08 AM).

You almost don't notice Charlie fumbling with something under the hood of his cruiser to the right of your truck. Only when a loud _slam_ is heard as Charlie shuts the hood of his car do you realize he was standing there the whole time. During your planning to get ready and out as soon as possible, you'd nearly forgotten to tell Charlie about it all first.

The loud sounds makes you jump where you stand, and you breathe an embarrassed sigh of relief when you notice Charlie behind his car, wiping his hands with an oil-stained rag.

"Hey, Dad," you say quickly, feeling guilty you didn't tell him before. "I'm—uh… headed to… La Push." You bite your lip slightly and wonder if this could be a lie. You could change your mind halfway there.

Charlie simply nods his head. "Making things right with Jake, I see." He states it like a fact.

Your eyes widen at the misunderstanding. "I—well, I mean—um… no, not really, actually." Heat rushes to your cheeks. "Not yet, I guess."

He stares at you suspiciously, looking completely flabbergasted that his guess had been wrong. "That's not what I wanted to hear."

"I know."

He gives a sigh of defeat and exasperation. "Whatever the reason is, don't you think it's a little bit too early to head over to La Push? Any sane person would sleep in till at least after eight o'clock on a Saturday morning." He takes a swift glance at his watch. "And it's _five in the morning_, Bell."

You raise your eyebrows, playing the defendant. "I thought you _wanted_ me to make up with Jake."

"I do, I do!" Charlie replies, lifting both hands in a placating gesture. "But—good God, Bella! A boy that age and size should get as much rest as possible. Don't you go down there and make a pest of yourself. And anyway, I thought you weren't going to La Push to make up with him."

"I _will_ get around to it. Jake's just not ready yet. And neither am I, I think." You hesitate before continuing, feeling suddenly unsure about what you meant to go to La Push to do. "But I'm making progress, Dad."

He just grins, and that one grin outpours his obvious complete and total trust in you. You're not sure whether he _should_ trust you, or not. "That's all I needed to hear." He walks to you and gives you a firm one-armed hug. "Good luck with whatever you do. But remember, Bella, at this age, you should probably still think boys are _icky_. Well, at least I _wished_ that you still did."

He chuckles and you raise an eyebrow at how embarrassing Charlie could be when you really concentrated and gave in to your natural teenage hormones. The sense of regularity you feel as Charlie releases you and goes back to work on his car makes you feel strange as you climb into your truck, like maybe you could just bask in the normalness of being a teenager for a while and not have to embrace the strange world of fairy tales that you so willingly went forward to involve yourself in.

But you decide to stop pretending. You could save basking in the 'normalness' for later.

(If there _was _a later.)

---

Your truck roars as you pull into the not-so-clear driveway and sputters to a stop when you pull the keys from the ignition. Your hands suddenly begin shake convulsively, and it's not because of the cold air that greets you when you finally manage to open your truck door.

Hyperventilating is inescapable as you walk up the pleasant, flower-lined pathway that ultimately leads to a pleasant little house—cute and perfect, yet old and small—and one knock on Emily Young's front door is all it takes.

The door swings open wide without a creak that you might've expected from a door so seemingly old.

Emily stands in the doorway as though she'd been there the whole time. A shocked expression is already present on her face, so you know that she knew it was you from the sound of your truck approaching.

"Bella," she gasps, her eyebrows scrunching up peculiarly. "What a… pleasant surprise…" She makes the sentence sound like a question.

"Yeah," you say, forcing your voice to be strong. "I'm really,_ really_ sorry it's so early, but I couldn't wait," you continue as you feel the blood rising to your cheeks. Emily seems to look ready for the day and not like she just got out of bed, though, so that makes you feel better.

"No, no problem at all, Bella," Emily replies as though she is just barely aware of her surprised stature. Straightening herself with a kind, yet still confused smile, she studies you up and down.

You feel embarrassed as you realize how you probably look like absolute shit. I mean, you didn't have time for a shower, or even to run a rag over your face or a comb through your hair. No doubt tear stains were in place below your eyes. And you'd definitely not had enough sleep, so it could be guaranteed that the purple-bluish bags under your eyes had bags. You look at your feet uncomfortably, noticing how awkward the situation was getting and wanting to get right to the point.

"Honestly, I've already been awake for a while, so you shouldn't worry about it," Emily says again, smiling wider and looking a bit embarrassed herself. "What would you like, Bella? I can help you with anything you need." Her tone grows significantly more serious. You'd like to tell her how wrong she really is, how much she really couldn't help you with what you'd _really_ like. You'd like to spill out all your problems in the world to her, to _anyone_, just so someone could feel the pain you were feeling right now and understand.

But you know the person you'd _really_ like to talk to right now was most likely occupied with someone infinitely more… _important_ than you.

So you decide to stick to the immediate problem at hand. "It's not anything big, really, it's just…" The words get stuck in your throat. How would this help anything, anyway? Well, it probably wouldn't. But knowledge was better than being kept in the dark. But… _knowledge_ wouldn't give you want, either.

"Anything you'd like, Bella. You can tell me." Emily breaks into the momentary silence. She smiles even more invitingly and kindly, and you think, _Well, too late to back out now. I'm making an utter fool of myself just standing here_.

Well, it _was_ what you'd come here to do.

"If it's alright with you," you speak up strongly as you meet her questioning gaze, "I'd like to speak with Sam about something."

---

**A/N:** Ooh, cliffhanger. Terribly sorry about that. Note that I hate those as much as you do. :)


	7. Searching

**A/N:** In this chapter (which, might I add, is long!), I explore more into the depths of Emily Young's character as well as the touchy subject of imprinting (but beware! Most of the information here is made-up). I believe that Stephenie Meyer never really introduced us properly to Emily—we only know she's Sam imprint and that she has a scar along her face. So I decided to write more about that, because I've always believed that Emily and Bella could have been great friends if only they'd gotten to know each other.

---

**Chapter Seven.**

You sit at Emily Young's small table in her kitchen as the sun ever so slowly makes it way over the mountains, trying to keep your mind occupied on other things that are probably much more trivial compared to the priorities you have on your plate right now.

The shadows that conceal most of Emily's dimly-lit front room eventually fade away as the light crawls over the tacky pieces of floral furniture. The light makes everything beautiful, glowing through the empty glasses Emily scrubs and sets on a towel to dry… illuminating the large windows (with curtains pulled aside as to see the beautiful greens of the forest) and filling everything with a light that unbelievably warms your skin so wonderfully that you actually look all around you at the beauty and smile. Everything is beautiful, so it's impossible for you not to just _smile _at it.

The feeling of smiling at such a seemingly insignificant thing that would probably not be amazing to anyone else feels more than strange—it's utterly bizarre; completely unnecessary. And all too soon, your smile falters.

The sun lights the room to the extent where Emily turns off the lamp in the middle of the small coffee table between two couches too small to be called proper couches. The light didn't do much, anyway. It's obvious she loves the naturalness of where she resides. It is a beautiful location, after all—and definitely a beautiful house—and it makes you get a bit uncomfortable. You used to think you'd never be able to find another house that could be more beautiful than… than the _Cullens'_ large white house by the river. Everything turned magical there—and probably still did, but you weren't in a hurry to find out—and everything was a fairy tale, sparkling with the mystical feeling that only comes with such mythical beings as the Cullens. No house could compare. Nothing could be more beautiful than _that_, than the loveliness of their half-glass house and impossibly modern beauty that illuminated from every square inch.

But looking around Emily's little hideaway cottage makes you think twice. You think different thoughts, now that you'd seen the way La Push could look at sunrise... it was just impossible to describe. There was a different kind of beauty here, different than any you'd seen before, and it didn't include the wealth and unnatural beauty that—unfortunately—came with vampirism. Not that you'd found anything wrong with that. It was just… a complication. Something that added more to the unbalance between you and your previous friends. Your previous _family_. (Not anymore—not ever again.)

So you decide to stop thinking about that, and just think about the here and the now. Here, you are in an amazingly beautiful place, looking around you at all the amazingly beautiful things that surround you. Now, you don't care whether it makes you uncomfortable that this is the most beautiful piece of nature you've ever seen—that doesn't matter. What matters that you are here right now and everything is beautiful around you, and it happens to be a beautiful piece of nature. That's all the matters, and anything else right now doesn't.

Emily eventually comes to join you. She sits in the chair across from you, crossing her arms and legs and smiling half of her face pleasantly out the window, mimicking you. The permanent scar of a claw that scrapes down her face in a very nasty way, distorting her face to look like she's grimacing, doesn't fool you.

A few seconds pass, and she speaks. "You know, Sam won't be out for much longer. He'll be here by at least seven—he always checks up on me to make sure I'm fine." She grins matter-of-factly, pulling her sock feet onto the couch beside her.

"I can wait however long it takes him," you say vaguely, still staring at the window thoughtfully. "I'm not in much of a rush to get home." And it _is _true, partly. Where is your home now, anyway? Where could you go back to and know that you fit in?

"Yeah, well…" Emily shrugs, looking ridiculously close to a young teenager. You realize how much younger than you she looks, and it makes you squirm uncomfortably. "Are you sure there isn't anything I can get you…? I don't do much during the day. I don't usually have company." She shrugs again, and you avert your eyes from the nature scene outside to smile warmly at her. Well, at you least you _hope_ it's a smile.

"I dunno. I'm sort of a big, gray blob. I'm completely boring." You smirk a bit.

Emily's face turns thoughtful, and she shakes her head back and forth after a few moments. Her voice turns amused and playful. "Nah, I don't believe that. Jacob used to always go on about how you always—" But she cuts herself off abruptly, realizing what she was saying. She doesn't continue, and you try not to flinch.

"Yes?" you say quietly, trying not to let your face show your discomfort. "What would he say about me?"

Emily hesitates, like she's afraid you're a time bomb that could go off if she said any wrong thing. You look at her anxiously, encouraging her to continue.

"Well… he just said how happy you made him. And how human you acted." A sad smile spreads across her face. More understanding is in that smile than you'd ever seen Emily give you before. "I mean, I guess you amused him or something. That's not what I'd call _boring_. Not everything amuses Jacob."

"I know," you mumble, and you can't say anything else. Your words seem to waver in the air between the two of you. You stare at the dead lamp on the coffee table in front of you.

Emily clears her throat a bit conspicuously after a few moments of silence pass.

"But what about you?" you ask quickly, getting a sudden inspiration.

"Um… what about me?" she replies, her smile amused.

"I mean—I came over here at freaking five-thirty, Emily. Do you usually get up that early…? I definitely thought you'd be a nightgown and rubbing sleep out of your eyes or something…"

"Uh, yeah," she says, clearing her throat once and moving her shoulders awkwardly. "Well, I plan my sleeping schedule around Sam's sleeping schedule." She glances your way again, and her eyes obviously are begging for your understanding. And you do—you do understand, right away.

"You can't sleep when he's not there," you say without a question.

"Yep—that's basically it. I don't dare go to sleep if Sam's not there in the bed beside me…" And then she chuckles softly. "Kind of pitiful, isn't it? That I need someone to sleep with me…"

She thought _she_ was pitiful? You almost gawk as she speaks. She obviously hadn't seen pitiful before. Now, you coming over here in the dawn of the morning and asking to speak to her fiancé about something completely unnecessary and silly—now _that_ was pitiful.

"No, I think that's completely normal," you speak up strongly. "I know exactly what you mean—I have that feeling all the time. Don't think you're pitiful."

Emily shakes her head back on forth, obviously not convinced. "No, I don't think you understand. It's really awful, the side effects I have when Sam's not here with me. Like, I literally have horrid nightmares if I sleep and Sam's not here…" Her voice drops several notches lower at her last sentence. "I'm always afraid he'll come back injured… or not come back at all…" She shudders. "Or worse—I have nightmares that Sam doesn't exist. That he _never_ existed, or that if there were no thing with the wolves and whatnot… that Sam definitely wouldn't be in my life like how he is not if there were no wolves."

You look at her for a long moment, almost aghast that someone could actually have nightmares like that—aside from you, of course. You didn't think anyone else could feel so similar to you. Could it really be possible that this kind of pain existed in more lives than just_ you_? How could someone love someone so immensely as Emily obviously loved Sam?

Ugh. Of course those feelings could exist there for Emily. Once again, you were just being a shallow, inconsiderate bitch.

"You can talk about that with me," you whisper at last. "I have nightmares like that, too… although the characters might be a bit different in mine." Your attempt to lift the atmosphere with humor doesn't work well. Emily still looks down at her crossed legs, looking desolate.

"Look, Emily." You sigh. "You have no idea how much I can relate to you. I know exactly how you feel—you care about Sam, that's apparent—but it goes deeper than that, doesn't it? For both of us, I mean. Almost everything I do nowadays is all under the cause of love… from someone or another."

Emily finally looks up to meet your gentle gaze. "Thank you, Bella. But you don't need to tell me that—I already knew, I mean. If you don't mind me talking about Jacob, and I hope not—what you and him share somehow outshines and imprint. Has anyone ever told you that before?"

You stare blankly at her face, not able to make words come out. Because, the truth was, _no one_ had ever told you that before. _Ever_. What it really like that? Could that really be true? You'd expect Emily to be the expert on imprints, so perhaps you could take what she said to heart—

But right at that moment (to ultimately cut off all previous train of thought), Sam walked through the door, looking almost out of breath. He's shirtless, of course, and barefoot, which wasn't a surprise either. You guess he'd been a wolf not more than ten seconds ago.

He first looks to you, an unconcealed expression of surprise apparent on his face, but staring at you is interrupted as Emily literally jumps from the couch to wrap her arms around his neck. All speaking is put off, as well, as Emily breathlessly crushes her lips to his, almost desperate. Sam kisses her back indulgently for a too many few moments, and you can feel Emily's relief lifted at the physical contact they both share. You wonder mildly how long they'd been apart to kiss as intensely as they were.

Like the last time you saw Emily and Sam kissing, you looked away awkwardly, not able to stand the amount of love that emanated off of the happy couple in large waves. Too much passion was put into their kisses—you didn't even want to think how you'd never kissed someone like that. Not even _him_, even as much as you love him, and he loved you.

"Bella?" Sam asks cautiously at last, interrupting your mental blahs. You look up to meet his curious gaze. "What—" But he is interrupted once again as Emily hastily stands on her tiptoes to take his face in her hands and whisper something furiously into his ear. While it's too quiet for you to hear, you don't need to wonder what she might be whispering to him. Sam mumbles a few confused words back to her as well.

"Ah," Sam says at last, louder this time. He clears his throat as Emily retreats back to the loveseat, idly following behind her. "What would you like from me, Bella?" He sits down in a flowery recliner to the right of you and grins welcomingly.

How are you supposed to start? There were so many things you'd like. "Well, I'd mostly just like to ask you a few questions," you reply, trying to think up clever inquiries in your head. You hadn't really thought about what you would say before it came right down to it.

"Questions…?" Sam says when you don't continue for a few seconds. "What kind of questions?"

"Mostly about imprinting and whatnot," you blurt out before you can change your mind and ask something much more trivial.

Sam just nods, like he knows what's coming. "I'm a bit experienced in that area."

You smile and nod as well, grateful no unnecessary questions were asked beforehand. You could get right to the point if Sam kept to this path. You didn't want to dwell too much on the unnecessary, after all.

"I figured that."

"So," he says, spreading his arms and shrugging at the same time. It's a gesture that you should probably continue on with your questions. (Damn, why did you always have to be so awkward?)

"Well, I guess you already know… about Jake and—" But you stop right there and kind of chuckle strangely, lowering your eyes and forcing the pain not to overtake you. You would not break down right here or right now. You didn't come here to act ridiculous.

Fortunately, Sam doesn't wait for you to finish your cutoff sentence. "Yeah, well… yeah. I know." His mouth goes into a straight line, a grimace almost.

You shiver once, calming yourself enough to move on. "Anyway, that's… that's something I'd like question."

Sam's form goes rigid on the recliner, making the springs creak abruptly. "Question how? I don't see what there's to question." His voice is almost… defensive. No, not almost—it _is_ defensive.

You take a few more seconds to figure out how to word your inquiry. "Now, I hear that imprints are extremely strong forces of nature—"

"You hear correctly," Sam interrupts you, his voice stiff. That surprises you. What did you say wrong for him to act so hostile towards you?

From where she sits on the loveseat, you notice Emily throw Sam a warning look.

"Look, Sam," you say defensively, trying not to glare but finding it hard not to. "I didn't come here to argue with you. If what I am thinking is completely idiotic and by all means completely improbable, don't go out of your way to give me shit about it." The words rush out of your mouth before you really stop and think about what you're saying. But you do feel better—just acting even a little bit fierce does that to you—like an enormous weight has just lifted off your chest. At the same time, swearing around someone much wiser (someone you needed to respect) probably didn't give him a very good impression. At the same time, you don't feel the need to apologize. You don't want to.

"Bella," Sam sighs, his face suddenly looking much older than you assumed he really was. You'd already started to notice how werewolf-ness tended to do that to the rest of the pack, too, but right now, Sam looked ancient and completely tired. He definitely was. It makes you feel much sorrier for him. "I am _not _giving you shit about anything. But it's about time you came to terms with that fact that Jacob and Nat _are_ how they are. And nothing can change that." Unconsciously, and completely against your will, tears gather at your eyes. "I mean, for God's sakes, Bella—they're imprinted! I don't know what you don't understand about that."

"I understand that," you hiss dangerously. You would _not_ show a weakness in front of Sam. "But how would _you_ know if I didn't come to terms with… the whole imprinting issue?" Indignantly, you fold your arms across your chest. "I could be completely fine right now. You have no right to say otherwise."

Sam looks immensely uncomfortable, embarrassed even. "Embry is… rather informative," he says simply.

You understand immediately. Of course Sam would be able to hear Embry's thoughts about how exactly you'd been acting since Jacob broke up with you. He could get the whole story, firsthand (or, at least, the closest thing to firsthand) from Embry. This doesn't comfort you in any way. You should have known better, though. God, why did you have to expose your deepest weakness to _him_? Anything that one of the wolf pack knew about, it was inevitable for the rest of the wolf pack to know as well. You didn't want everyone in on your personal—and, most definitely, pitiful—life. Keeping it to yourself was bad enough—there was no need for the rest of the world to share your pain and know just how weak you really are.

"Oh," you whisper at last once all of this is thought out in your head.

Sam sighs again, his expression going hard and professional. He's all business now. He has no time to feel sorry for you.

"What exactly did you come here to ask me, though, Bella?"

"Lots of things," you mumble, embarrassed. "But they don't really matter anymore, if you keep your state of mind."

A small smile lights up his serious face. "And what state of mind is that?"

"A fucking awful one," you mutter under your breath, hopefully much too quiet for either Emily or especially Sam to hear.

"Didn't quite catch that, Bella," Sam says, proving you right.

"You're thinking all wrong," you speak up angrily. "Jacob and Natalie have _nothing_. I know it. Jacob even told me so." Which wasn't technically a lie, but wasn't the full truth, either. You weren't about to let Sam know that, though.

"Did he?" Sam's amused expression deepens, and it angers you to no end. Sarcasm is tangible in his voice.

"Will you just _listen_ _to me_!" you yell furiously, standing up from where you sat and clenching your fists at your side as to not accidentally throw a punch his way. "You have absolutely no clue how messed-up I feel right now, and it does no good to treat me like a fucking _child_! I know what I came here to talk about!" You're tempted to flail your arms around in the air to illustrate your frustration, but decide against it. "This is exactly what I was talking about when I said you were giving me shit." Sam relaxes in his seat, as though giving up on trying to humor you, and stares at you with an expression that plainly says if-I-weren't-this-mature-I-would-roll-my-eyes-at-you-right-now. And he doesn't interrupt you. But Emily does (who, under strange circumstances, had been sitting quietly throughout the entire conversation).

"I don't like the negative energy here right now," she pipes up simply, sounding so completely innocent and so completely human, that is almost calms you down (but it doesn't, not really). "Perhaps there's a civil way we can work this out."

"Tell that to _him_." You stab a finger at Sam.

Surprisingly, Emily does. "Sam, honey," she murmurs in a soothing tone, turning to face him, "I agree that you should listen to what Bella has to say. Leave all the yelling for later, please, but don't yell at Bella." Her face turns into a lopsided little grin, lighting up half of her unscarred face with hopefulness.

"Then I suggest you sit down, Bella," Sam says, glaring at you. You listen, not wanting to argue anymore. "I still haven't heard a proper question come out of your mouth yet."

"Right," you say, straightening your composure. "I guess I'll just get right down to it. I don't like talking to you any more than you like talking to me right now." You glower his way.

Sam just throws back his head and laughs.

"_Anyway_," you say loudly, interrupting his ridiculous guffaws. He quiets down instantly, professional look back in place. "I just happened to be wondering if there's a possibility that—that perhaps… imprints could be broken, or have been broken before."

The look of shock on Sam's face completely surprises you. Didn't he know this was what you were hinting at? Why does he look so staggered?

"I—that is—completely ridiculous—not even—_possible_—," he sputters, sounding completely stupefied.

Well, that was definitely something else.

"Sam," you say quite calmly, much more calmly than you believed Sam could pull off right now. "It was just a question. Don't be like that."

Sam takes one deep and shuddering breath, and his face is instantly back into the collected and professional mask of his—and, for once, you are glad to see it. You want him to take you seriously, just as he should. When he was wearing that expression, you were being taken seriously. You'd at least figured out that much from the strange and cold mask you used to hate so much.

"I really wish I could tell you otherwise, Bella," he says quietly, "or maybe I don't…" The last part is spoken under his breath, but you can hear. "But there's honestly no such thing possible. Not that I have ever known of, at least, although I am quite knowledgeable in this particular area. I made sure to do my research before it got too serious with Emily here." He grins in his imprint's general direction, and she smiles back shyly in response. "But imprints are otherworldly parts of nature—nothing that could ever be experienced by anyone else except for a werewolf. Much less common than one might think—in fact, you'll probably get three out of ten wolves that imprint on another person.

"So perhaps I'm missing something, but usually our Quileute ancestors would write down something so significant as a broken imprint…" He shakes his head again, disbelieving. "I'm sorry, Bella, but even if there were such thing, it would be next to impossible for it to ever happen again."

For a moment, you don't understand why he's so apologetic about it all. I mean, sure, it was awful news—but how could he have known that? Did he already know how much you wanted Jacob and Natalie's imprint to be broken? Were you really that see-through?

Flushing immensely at this sudden knowledge, you try to think of something clever in response to Sam's worried words. "I don't think—I mean—well, there's no need to apologize for anything, Sam." You try to chuckle good-naturedly to pretend to be unfazed, but it the chuckle comes out sounding a bit hysterical.

Sam looks at you uncertainly. "Are you quite sure, Bella? I know how much you dislike the whole imprinting business. You can ask me anything else if you need to."

You shake your head morosely. "No, I think that's pretty much it."

He studies you for a few seconds longer. "I truly am sorry, Bella—about the truth of broken imprints… and for yelling at you earlier." He rubs his neck sheepishly and looks comparatively calm to the previous two minutes. "I wish I had better news to tell you."

"Honestly, Sam; I don't want your apologies. Saying sorry doesn't do anything," you mumble, knowing your indifferent façade was now definitely see-through. "Although, in my case, I should be the one giving out apologies for yelling at you earlier… but… I guess there is just one more thing I am curious about."

"And what might that be, Bella?"

A wave of uncertainty comes over you so suddenly that you are tempted not to go ahead with your question. But you ask anyway. "Does… is Natalie… is she still, well, you know, in the dark?"

Sam looks down at his feet from where he sits, hesitating not one second. "Yeah," he mutters simply, sounding almost disappointed. "But I don't know how long that'll go on for. It's only a matter of time before she gets all curious as to where the hell Jacob goes off to at night and most of the day." He rumbles disapprovingly. "Jake hardly has a choice on what to say if she did ask that."

This surprises you. "And why would that be?"

"Imprints," Sam says, meeting your curious gaze again. "No matter what, Jacob can't just go straight out and lie to her face. It goes against all nature of an imprint. Whatever the imprintee wants to know, Jake'll have to give."

"Right," you say, trying not to let the pain in your chest become apparent in your facial expression. "That makes sense."

Sam stares at you with a wary look now, waiting for anything else you might have to say.

"Well, you mutter after a few seconds, "that's all I wanted to know, really. I guess—I guess I don't need to bother you anymore." You stand up resolutely and head for the door.

"Bella!" Emily's breathless voice comes from behind you. You turn around only to be greeted by two dark arms wrapped around your neck in the form of a bear hug. You smile sadly into Emily's hair, hugging her back with all the strength you could muster—which wasn't much.

"I enjoyed speaking with you," she says quietly as she pulls back to look at your face. No matter that you'd just been given some of the most awful news in your life—Emily was still content in being an all-around source of comfort and strength. Never before now had you noticed just what a wonderful person she really was—to the core. How could you have not seen that before? All this time, you thought you were alone, but here she was, all this time. Emily was definitely someone you could get along with quick and easily.

"I do hope you'll come again," Emily continues, her eyes flitting worriedly at your face.

"I—I can't promise anything," you stutter, feeling immensely guilty as you feel this might, indeed, be true.

Emily just nods resolutely and replies without hesitation. "I understand."

"Thank you," you whisper, and she hugs you once more. "For everything. I will visit as soon as time and circumstances allow me to."

Emily's grin grows wide. "That's great to know."

With that, you wave hasty goodbyes to both Sam and Emily and duck out the door in a rush, wondering what in the hell you just accomplished by visiting Sam (and Emily, definitely Emily, who you could now call your friend) and asking pointless questions that did not help your situation at all. So, what _had_ you just done?

Well, it _was_ what you'd come here to do.

And it hadn't given you much in return. If anything, it had degraded you of your original hope you'd felt at approaching the small, pleasant cottage in the middle of the forest. So as you retreated from the house and down along the path leading to your truck, your hope slips away. Every step you took from the sanctuary, your hope escaped along with it, falling behind you in painful ways that leave hyperventilating before you reach your car. But now you feel nothing—nothing at all.

And just before you can escape from the driveway to face the treacherous journey back home, a small car comes roaring down the dirt road behind you, pulling into the driveway haphazardly skidding to a stop not more than two feet from where your truck stands.

The driver of the screaming car kills the engine in a rush and jumps out frantically, a look of pure terror apparent in the atmosphere as she looks around herself, looking at everything save for you.

For the first time, she seems to notice your red truck sitting idly in the driveway, just on the verge of pulling out. She sees you sitting there and her hasty expression turns into that of being embarrassed as she meets your eyes. With a small smile making a significant difference to the frightened look on her face, she waves a tiny wave in your general direction, saying nothing. You don't say anything either. And all intentions of driving away before are now suddenly diminished.

Because, who stands before you now as though she'd just witnessed a murder of sorts, is none other than Natalie.

---


	8. Alter Egos

**A/N:** Uh… right. I kind of have no excuse for the past month of my absence. Forgive me? I swear I'll try and get up chapter nine as soon as possible following this one.

Well, here it is, finally. You might notice a _slight_ change in Bella's character.

---

**Chapter Eight.**

Somehow, without much reason and without much awareness of the other, time stands still. For just about three seconds, all you can do is just stare at the pitiful sight before you: The obvious anguish that Natalie seems to be suffering; her cheeks streaked with stains where tears inevitably fell not long ago; the laughable way of how she breathes shallowly and raggedly; the awful, barbaric way in which she composes herself.

The Natalie you see now is not the one you saw before—what was it? Only two days ago?—because now, her face resembles that of a week-old corpse. Her eyes are sunken in and dark shadows take the place of where you knew her beautiful, full eyelashes once were. Her hair seems remarkably frayed and uncared-for—her clothes look like she hadn't washed them in days. But—well, it had only been two days, hadn't it? Where had all the time gone since then?

_But_, you realize with an uncomfortable jolt, that _is_ what you wanted, isn't it? For time to pass quickly? For the pain not to last as long as absolutely necessary? You could wait a lifetime for it to be over. Now, you _could_ live with that. But for it to seem twice as long as you knew it truly was… You'd sooner go mad than attempt to resist that.

And it's not but three seconds later that you wrench open your car door to climb out, slam it shut again in a kind of smug fury, and walk quickly toward where Natalie stands, hardly caring if you came off as insensitive or inconsiderate.

"Hey," you say quite loudly at Natalie's frantic figure. She nearly jumps a foot in the air at the sound of your voice. Her eyes blink furiously as she faces you with a strange expression that resembles fear mixed with extreme concern. But the concern is not for you, obviously.

"Where's Jake?" she blurts before you can utter another word. Her words are extremely rushed, her voice so shaky you can hardly tell what she's saying. Her eyes widen and she looks half mad. "I know you guys are friends—lovers, maybe. I know you've seen him around and I haven't. _Where is he_?"

She glances over your shoulder and at your truck, as though she highly suspects you may be hiding him in the back.

You roll your eyes, extremely surprised at how jaunty, clever and confident you feel—although you may not look it (it's not as though you'd yet had time to take a shower today…). You gave a small start at the sound of—_his_—name, but other than that, you are as sarcastic and expressionless as ever. Somehow the look of Natalie's pitiful state brings you to your senses—if perhaps they were not so _sensible_—and a sudden burst of power blows through your body. You straighten your back. You glare maliciously. You feel like you could sky dive out of an airplane and not look back, not hesitate or regret in any way. You feel… _amazing_. As though Natalie's sorrow _fed_ you it all.

"Natalie, what—"

But she hardly takes a breath before she interrupts, rushing again to accuse you. Her eyebrows rise ever higher so that they disappear beneath her gaunt, dirt-colored bangs. "Whatever the fuck you've been doing with him, I'll find out. Probably you've—fed him a—love potion or—something like that—oh, _God_—" She breaks down at your feet, sobbing like she was nearing the end of her life.

And suddenly, you realize that she reminds you oddly of someone else…

"Ridiculous," you mutter under your breath, but just a bit louder (and quite firmly) you say, "Natalie! Think logically, will you? Since when has there ever been such a thing as a love potion? And for your information," you add bitterly, "I am quite sure that I haven't seen Jacob any more recently than you have."

Natalie only sobs harder.

You're completely and utterly abashed at her behavior; although you don't raise your voice, you know you don't need to. The confidence in which you speak and the immediate way she shuts up lets you know that power looms in your voice that had probably never been there before. It gives _new_ strength, as if that were even possible.

"I want you to be quite calm for just a few moments," you continue in a deadly, powerful voice. Never have you had this power over someone else ever before—there was always the weakness inside you that allowed others to speak over you, to control you and power you. Even the shock that lingers from this immediate change cannot destroy your fearlessness or take down your defenses. It's like you're a new person… well, the _same_ person, but in an entirely different body with a different mind. You've never felt this kind of strength ever before.

"I'm—_being_—calm," Natalie sputters through her teeth, standing up again although she still looks down. Her breath still hitches, the aftereffect of crying, as you liked to think of it and as you would very well know. "What—the—_hell_—do you want with me?"

"Well, one or two things," you say instantly, surprised at how fluently the words flow out of your mouth, as though they hadn't come from _your_ brain; as though you were reading a quite clever script and already knew all the facial motions. "Firstly," you say, your tone tainted with sarcasm, "I couldn't help but notice you have just a little bit of dirt on your—well, everywhere, actually." You look down with disapproval and wrinkle your nose, as though Natalie were a very unpleasant thing found on the bottom of your shoe. "I was wondering if you could first explain that to me."

"And why does _that _matter? And why do _you_ care?" Natalie spits at you, glaring at you full in the face. "And since when were you such a bitch? I was under the impression a few days ago—and the first time I met you—that you were a _caring_, _sensitive_, and _thoughtful _person, Bella." Her voice aches with so much sarcasm that it's all you can do not to flinch.

You compose yourself quite quickly. "I suppose I have somewhat of an alter-ego at the most important of times," you say softly, smiling slightly. "This is one of those times where I can't afford to show weakness—like, well, how _you_ are."

Natalie's body trembles. She threatens to cry again, but doesn't.

"I guess you aren't who I thought you were, then," she whispers brokenly, wiping her dripping nose with the rag of a blouse she wore. You screw up your face in disgust.

"Please," you try again, "_please_ tell me why you're wearing that."

"THAT IS IRRELEVENT!" she yells, causing several birds to fly from the protection of the forest and up into the sky with scared-sounding caws.

From the corner of your eye you see the curtains of Emily's house being slightly pulled aside—Emily, no doubt, would emerge in a matter of seconds, and you don't want her to find you acting this way. Not fifteen minutes ago, you'd been having a very heartfelt and deep conversation with the girl. How would it impress upon her if you were caught in a scene such as this?

"So," you murmur, not willing to let your anger get out of hand, "I guess I'll just get right to the point: Is there something I might be able to help you with, Natalie?"

"Yes," she growls, frantically blinking again and looking all around her, like an angel might appear out of nowhere and help her out of her despair. "I'm missing _Jacob. _He's not at his house, he won't answer his phone, his dad won't tell me _anything_, not where he is where he's been or why in the hell he's missing" —she takes a deep breath and starts again— "and I know you know something about him I don't, about why he's gone almost all the time, about why he and his _group_ are so secretive all the time, and you _damn well_ better tell me what you know or else I'll—"

But you never find out what Natalie was about to say: At that moment, the front door of Emily's bursts open and there she stands, looking like she could release tenfold of all the anger Natalie had already let out on you, even with a smile on her face.

"And _what_, might I ask, is going on here?" she asks in a falsely cheerful voice, her sharp yet kind eyes flickering quickly between Natalie and you. She walks forward until she's almost directly in the middle of yours and Natalie's kind of cat fight that held place not five seconds ago. "If I didn't know better, I would think you two were—like, I don't know, _fighting_ or something." She chuckles, and she's a good actress, but it's obvious she knows what that that was, indeed, exactly what had been happening.

You mumble an apology and make your way back to your truck, all former confidence slowly draining out of you, but Emily calls you back just as fast.

"I don't believe you answered my question, Bella," she says kindly. A remorseful feeling burns the inside of your chest. No way would you ever hold this much authority over anyone as Emily did now over you. Next to the way she speaks now, your kind of false pride and confidence seems rather pathetic.

"I'm sorry," you say again. "I'm not exactly sure what happened. I was angry, she was yelling at me—_accusing_ me—and for what, well I don't know, why don't you ask her that—"

"Emily, do you know where Jacob is?" Natalie says at once instead of answering Emily. Her voice holds so much eagerness, so much desperation, it nearly makes you sick.

You sidle your way off to your truck once again (effectively ignoring Emily's surprised response to Natalie), wondering if you could get in, start it up, and race out of the driveway before they would be able to stop you…

"…so why don't you ask Bella?" Emily is saying, speaking louder as for her voice to reach where you stand, not more than five feet away from your destination. You swear under your breath at Emily's intrusion in your progress, and speak up again in false, curious voice.

"What was that?" you call loudly.

"Well, Natalie here was just wondering where Jacob was," says Emily, as if you don't already know all of this, "so maybe you know?"

"No, I _don't_," you say at once, as desperate as ever to get home and out of this hell. "I've already told you that," you add, glaring at Natalie. She opens her mouth as if she is about to say something.

"Now, now," Emily speaks up. "It was only a question, Bella, no need for that aggression. You might as well go home now, then—but it _was_ quite nice talking to you, you know—"

But you don't hear the rest of her sentence, if there _was_ a rest. Already, you're in your car, desperately turning the keys in the ignition and not daring to look behind you where Natalie would inevitably still be standing. You don't roll down the window to call a goodbye; you don't look back at the pleasant little enclosure that is Emily's cottage.

And then, before you know it, you're exposed to the small, slightly winding highway once again, the one that would lead you away from where you just left—but where you would end up, you have absolutely no idea. You purposely ignore the turn that you would take on any other day to get back to Charlie's house and continue driving down the slowly sloping road, not noticing the way the greenery on either side of you grows wilder and wilder with every mile driven.

You don't know where you're going, or why—nothing makes sense anymore. All that is perfectly clear is that you _need_ to get away—how _far_ away, you don't know—and you won't let anything stop you, no matter the cost.

Frantic thoughts churn their way into your already crowded mind—thoughts of why, _why_ in the hell Jacob would ever leave his girlfriend in such a state. You see her frightened face everywhere you look, you see the cruelty given to her—_her_, a _human_, a poor, innocent and unknowing little human who was scared beyond her wits at the sudden disappearance of her once-loyal boyfriend… the boyfriend that just so happened to be a werewolf. Not that Natalie could ever know _that_.

So now she knew the pain you knew. She knew how wonderful Jacob seemed, at first—she knew the way he could break hearts like they were toothpicks. She knew the concern for him that constantly flooded your senses, making nothing matter anymore. You and Natalie both knew about him—you had a lot in common.

But Natalie was also weak—incredibly so. That much was obvious during the not-so pleasant conversation you'd shared with each other. Of course, _you_ were weak as well, but you're quite sure you've never looked _that_ bad… right? You'd never had reason to look like you'd just blundered through a rainstorm and left time for a mud bath at the end, all the while not eating… not like how Natalie looked. Even if you had turned into something of a catatonic mess during the time when you mourned Edward's departure—well, you weren't that vulnerable _anymore_, of course…

It takes a few seconds for you to realize that your truck is slowly slipping to the far left side of the road. You hastily straighten the steering wheel and erase all thoughts from your mind and focus on nothing more than driving. You blink furiously to clear your vision, and wiping your mind of all thought seems to be working quite effectively.

But not for long—the agonizing seconds turn into minutes, then a half hour, then hours, you're sure—but you don't stop there.

The sky eventually grows a dusky color of grayish blue—clouds still cover the most part of it all. Between the gaps in the clouds, there's a piercing color of light blood red—an ominous sign. But you don't stop there. Hours and hours pass before you show any sign of breaking—and you _do_ break, eventually.

But then you can't even take it: The roar of the engine, the way things move much too quickly by you as you drive in your truck—it's too much. And before you think twice about what you're doing, you pull off to the side of the wild, bumpy road, stop the engine of your truck, quickly jump out into the ground that meets your feet as mud and weeds, close the door behind you with an angry _slam_—and look around.

You don't know where you are. There aren't road signs anymore. You're in complete wilderness, and your truck's fuel tank is less than a centimeter away from the E—so, reasonably speaking, you could drive further and meet some sort of small town. Some kind of civilization, however small. But for all intense and insensible purposes, you continue on the way you'd been driving for nearly eight hours. The car seems to simply disappear behind you, indefinitely forgotten, and you simply begin to walk.

And walk.

And walk.

And _walk_.

You continue walking, long after the sun completely makes its way below the horizon; long after the sky becomes as dark for you not being able to see your own hand in front of your face. But that's okay, it doesn't really matter—you wouldn't have been able to see your hand if the entire sky was lit up.

The tears pouring down your cheeks are completely unbearable, yet at the same time, you can't get them to stop. But you don't have a specific reason of why you're crying, exactly—no, that doesn't seem to matter at all right now. You cry for the simple purpose of crying, just because the wave of wetness over your cheeks is a strange, almost _comfortable_ familiarity; you cry simply for the sake of crying. You realize numbly that it'd become a habit. And whether it was a _good_ habit or not, you could hardly care. Not now.

You don't count the time. And somehow, simply walking along turns to something extremely more urgent—before you know it, there's a slight tremble in your step; you're not as confident with yourself as before; you're getting dizzy, your head is spinning wildly, your subconscious thoughts make absolutely no sense anymore (not that they did to start out with)… You faintly see the ground coming up to meet your face through the thick tears that have blinded you all the while.

But before you can reach your arms out to catch yourself, there's only the slight, numbing pain of rough gravel meeting your sensitive skin—for a split second, you groan in pain and weariness: You faint, right in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of a road, where no one could ever be destined to find you. Not unless they'd been _following_ you all this time.

But you don't worry about that—not now. Everything goes black.

---

"Wait—no, _wait_,I mean it—I just need to check something out—"

A deep, familiar voice breaks through your senses.

"No, we _need_ to leave!" a second voice cuts in. "C'mon, it's nothing, damn it—"

"Wait!" yells the first voice again, a hint of worry and confusion. "I swear I'll follow right after you guys, you can't deny I'll catch up to you in just about two seconds. Go, just _go_—"

A loud growl explodes somewhere close to your left. _God_, you think, _what a strange dream… just let me see what the hell's going on…_

But no matter how hard you try and open your eyes, they just won't budge.

"_Don't_—under any circumstances—waste time!" the second voice says furiously—it's a strangely familiar voice as well, one you've heard extremely recently, but that doesn't make it pleasant. "You know you're a key part in this, so _follow quickly_."

Half a second passes before you sense the absence of the second man. Silence befalls upon you and—well, whoever else was with you… and you could take a pretty good guess… but of course you wouldn't dare do such a thing, let your mind wander away hopefully only to be dragged down again…

"Fuck you, Sam," mumbles the stranger to your left several moments after the departure of the second man, sounding incredibly annoyed. "Like I don't know how to work in a pack after half a year…" Footsteps grow closer to where you lay pitifully on the ground.

You're beginning to feel your toes again—and _God_, you hadn't realized just how freezing cold they were. You wriggle your fingers, feel all around you, and momentarily recognize the cold hard ground of nearly-frozen asphalt. It's an extremely uncomfortable sensation, but perhaps not as uncomfortable as being perfectly numb to all of your surroundings.

A sharp pain suddenly hits the exposed skin of your body—you feel a warm liquid at your right cheek and try to breathe through your mouth rather than your nose. It's no good, though: The blood is so close that you can't help but breathe the smell of it in. For a few seconds, a dizzying sensation controls your head and you threaten to pass out once more.

"Bella," says a sorrowful voice, and your heart skips a beat—you hadn't realized just how _close_ he was. And he wasn't asking a question—he was merely acknowledging that you'd been found. But you still can't open your eyes; not because it's impossible, but because you simply don't _want_ to.

You can feel the heat of him, even though he's not even _touching_ you yet. You can just feel it emanating from him, reaching all the coldness over your body, making it feel like you'd just walked into a heavily heated room.

But what you feel now is nothing compared to what happens when he finally, _finally_ touches you—it's completely innocent, completely dissatisfying—only a gentle prod of a finger on your bare arm, as though he himself were wary of what would happen if he gave himself away to you.

"Yeah." You're finally able to find your voice—it sounds as though you hadn't used it in months. "I'm alive, if that's what you're wondering."

You chuckle weakly. Your throat feels tremendously raw—you suspect it might be from how long you'd cried… how long ago was it? It's hard to tell—the sky looks just as dark as you remember it was before you fainted. You feel it's safe to think you hadn't been lying there for more than a few hours, if not less.

You hear him exhale an enormous breath of relief. He completely envelopes you in his burning hot arms; you feel as though you'll melt away right there in his hold. He's breathing only inches away from your face. Something gives you impression that he's attempting to _thaw_ you.

And you open your eyes to meet a glorious sight.

He's even more beautiful than you remember; his kind, dark-brown eyes are filled with immense concern as he searches your face. He presses his warm lips to your temple, temporarily hiding his face from view, and you close your eyes at this wonderfulness and let your breath mix with his. But only for a few seconds. It would be asking for too much to stay like this forever… it was much too good to be true. You could hardly be certain that he was even a reality—that he wasn't just some wild illusion you'd conjured up in your sleep, and that this could all be a terrifying, too-good dream…

"Well, hey," Jacob says as he stares at your face again, "there you are."

"Yeah, here I am," you reply uncertainly.

His eyes suddenly narrow. "Is it safe to assume that I might never know exactly _why_ you've passed out on a road in the middle of Oregon, with your truck several miles away?" His stern voice gives you the impression you're being scolded.

You pretend to think for a few moments, finally cleverly replying, "Yeah, it's safe to assume that."

You struggle to get to your feet again, fighting to have Jacob's strong arms let go of you and ignoring the expression of annoyance mixed with disbelieving humor on his face. You think for a split second that he won't let you stand up as he tightens his hold on you, but he stands up alongside you, helping you upright, all the while holding tightly on to you like he fears you might collapse again. You can't blame him for being cautious, either: You feel extremely unsteady.

"I gotcha," he whispers huskily in your ear, and you shiver not at the warmth of his breath, but at the intimate tone in his voice. "We'll get you cleaned up when you get home, Bella—of course, not unless you want to go to the hospital—the right side of your face took most of the impact…"

You had to admit, his voice was enough to make _any _girl swoon. And speaking of which—

"Jake!" you yell quite suddenly, much to his surprise, and wrench your way out of his grasp. You feel mildly shocked at how immediately he releases you, but you can't think about that, no… "I do believe there's someone else who would like a good hug from you, other than myself, thanks."

You glare at him, marveling at how rapidly you've been changing personalities lately—first the pathetic, needy, weak little girl; then the reasonable, angry, over-confident young woman.

And then it hits you, just like a punch in the gut: Natalie (as you saw her back at Emily's) had reminded you of someone. The resemblance to someone you knew was so overwhelming at the moment, and you'd forgotten it temporarily, but as you thought about the way she'd acted once more… You now know that it was _you_ who she so strongly reminded you of. This revelation leaves you slightly breathless and almost unable to continue speaking.

"Well—who?" asks Jacob stupidly. "I mean, I thought you looked like you could do with a good hug—"

"Natalie, you _idiot_!" you screech, your throat burning wildly in protest. "I guess you're not exactly aware that your precious girlfriend looks like a downright wreck without you right there by her side every two seconds, and I thought you might have enough fucking _sense _to see that she might turn _just a bit_ depressed if you're not there with her at all times, she looks like she's just lived a second in a year, so get away from me and help _her_, _I_ don't need you, _she_ does—"

The words all tumble furiously out of your mouth, burning your eyes at how much you mean them. There was someone who needed a warm werewolf at their side right now, and you were not that someone.

Jacob looks at you in sudden horror, his face contorting strangely as though he'd just realized something awful. His mouth moves but no words come out for a few seconds as you breathe heavily at his side, a good two or three feet separating you.

"Nat… Natalie—she needs me?" he whispers, as though it's a terrifying concept.

"The hell she _does_!" you try and yell, but it comes out only as a loud, hoarse whisper.

"…Nat," Jacob repeats uncertainly, "…alone… doesn't know… where I am… or who…" His eyes glaze over.

You stare at him in disbelief. "What the hell's wrong with you?" you mutter—you can't think of anything else to say in all your fury.

"_No!_" he shouts quite abruptly, startling you. He buries his face in his hands, shaking his head back and forth miserably. "No, no, no, oh no no no…"

"Would you please tell me what is going on?" You're completely bewildered. What could make Jacob act this way? You didn't _think_ you'd said anything enormously significant or offensive—

Jacob quite unexpectedly takes a strong stance again, yelling madly, "_Quickly_, get on!"

"Jake, what—?"

And without warning, he runs several yards away from you, so that you can only see his faint silhouette in the darkness of the starless night. And without any explanation, without even bothering to remove his clothes, he explodes into his wolf-form.

"Jake!" you cry, transfixed to the spot with shock. "I—I don't understand…"

He simply runs up to you, his much-too intelligent eyes looking impetuous, even in the near-blackness. He beckons you fiercely with a sharp jerk of his head, leaning on his haunches for you to climb on his back.

You're in a daze—you don't know exactly where he's going with this. Dumbfounded, you struggle up onto the mountain that is his back, holding handfuls of his fur as your reigns, although you could hardly call it as such. You cling on desperately as you feel him moving beneath you. (After all, how many other times had you taken a midnight run on the back of a horse-sized werewolf?)

And just like that, he dashes wildly through the trees, with you holding on tightly, feeling thoroughly confused.

---


	9. The Bond

**A/N: **I'd like to apologize, but for more than one thing. First of all, obviously I should apologize for putting off updating this story for so long. That was basically evil of me. And secondly, I should apologize for any and all differences you may see in my writing style. Somehow time away from the keyboard took its toll, and now I find that I am… much less deep, when it comes to writing angst. Or at least I believe so. I'm not sure. Something's different, at least. If you spot a difference, please let me know what it is so I might change it… Unless you like the difference of it. In that case I won't change anything.

I promise it won't take me so long to get up chapter ten. I _promise_. And again, I'm sorry.

**Chapter Nine.**

The forest seems to separate on either side of you like a door being opened. You expect the sight in front of you, although you don't know why, exactly—but of course, it's Sam and Emily's. You had something of a hunch that this is where Jacob was running to, but as for the reason _why_ he was here…

God, was it _so_ impossible for Jacob to explain things before just running off into the unknown?

You nervously release your tight grip on Jake's fur. The next second, he sits down and dumps you onto the ground, rather painfully, you might mention.

"What the—" you sputter, completely disgruntled. Jacob probably wasn't your most favorite person in the entire world at the current moment. "Remember I'm still right _here_, Jacob!"

He doesn't seem to acknowledge you. Three feet away from where you stand, dusting off the thighs of your jeans hastily, he quickly transforms—just like that, without even bothering to _conceal_ himself—right there in front of your eyes.

A strange sound finds its way out of your throat as you take in the sight in front of you, sounding like something between a moan and a grunt.

You hadn't ever seen him naked… no, not before now. It seems that, as close as you two were, you might have _accidentally_ found yourself in a situation that consisted of you _accidentally_ catching a glimpse of him in his birthday suit… but, no, there had never been such a situation to occur before.

Several seconds pass before your realize that you're actually staring—_ugh_, staring! What was the matter with you? Had you no shame to try and pretend like you weren't… immensely interested…?

Jacob doesn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary. Not even that he happens to be standing in the middle of Sam and Emily's yard with not one article of clothing upon his body. Maybe he was used to running around naked all the time with his bromance buddies, but you certainly weren't used to _seeing_ the action actually taking place.

Jacob simply glares in your general direction, the look in his eyes still slightly glazed over but nevertheless focused. He seems to be waiting for you to do something—but what? What in the world are you supposed to do when he stands naked in front of you, as though he's actually clothed when that is not the case at all?

Finally you gather enough dignity to politely (or at least you hope it looked that way) avert your eyes to the dirt below you. From the sight you just saw, you don't think you'll ever quite be able to look at Jacob the same way ever again. It just would never be possible.

But to clear a few things up; the sight wasn't bad. Oh, God, it wasn't _bad_, not at _all_. Quite the opposite, in fact. It just didn't make sense that Jacob had to… taunt (was that the right word?) you, all the time, every single time he was around you. But you were just human, right? Suddenly you marvel at the fact that _this_ is what it means to be human—being sensitive to everything. Being attracted to hot—yes, _hot_—guys, and especially if they were standing naked before you… what more could you do than to stare in awe?

You can't exactly make sense of your sudden direction of thoughts. You'd never actually been sexually or even physically attracted to Jacob before now, not in the sense that you wanted him. As any regular girl would be that way, _you_ never had been. Always you thought it was just something wrong with your brain or emotions to not feel something immensely powerful whenever you were around Jacob. Other girls were attracted to him; why not you?

But no longer did this question apply. Somehow, you couldn't understand how you didn't see him this way before. Jacob was just there, Jacob was very good looking, and Jacob was your best friend. All that you took for granted, but you never even _thought_ to mention the fact that he was literally the most physically appealing people you had ever met.

And, in just that exact second, the thought of Edward doesn't even find its way into your mind. No. Not at all. And it is nothing short of a miracle.

Again, you focus in on Jacob's face, carefully avoiding looking at his torso and downward. For what you think is the first time that entire day, he actually _smirks_ at you. You glare right back, not wanting to be caught in the middle of an extremely embarrassing and revealing moment… or, rather, epiphany.

The thought was just ridiculous.

"Oh, freaking shut up, Jake," you say fiercely, looking away so he doesn't see the way your cheeks are probably burning the exact color of blood right before his eyes. But then, it probably wouldn't make a difference. He probably already saw your shocked expression anyway, despite his look of detachment before. Well, he was definitely present now, and it looked like you were in for a good teasing.

"I don't know if you're deaf, but I didn't actually say anything," he laughs, now looking nothing less than ridiculous as he makes no move at all to cover up any of his shit.

"At least grab a fucking leaf, you idiot," you mutter, looking again towards the ground as you start moving away from him and more towards Emily and Sam's house for whatever reason you were there for. "And then let's get started on this so-very-important mission you rushed off to—_damn it_—"

…Talking and walking. Not such a good combination for the most physically uncoordinated girl on the face on the earth.

The slick mud beneath your feet suddenly gives way and you see the brown-and-green ground coming closer to your face. Along with being uncoordinated, you also suffer from delayed reactions, so it's only when the ground is now seemingly two inches from your face that you have half the mind to stick your arms out—

But, as always, there's no need. Jake's right there. Of course. (When _isn't_ he there?) And worst of all, he's still naked.

Fuck.

"I got it, I got it!" you yell as you try desperately to avoid any and all contact with any part of his skin whatsoever. You hastily push yourself out of his arms and start angrily towards the house yet again. You know you look like more than an idiot, what with your legs shaking uncontrollably and your face as flushed as a tomato. But it wasn't your fault the boy had no sense to cover up once in a while!

"God, Bella, don't get your panties in a bunch," Jake mutters, the same amused tone in his voice. "I've got shorts now. Calm down."

"I don't believe you. You're probably just trying to trick me, God knows why—"

"Seriously, Bella, I promise you I'm not lying." You risk a peek over your shoulder. You don't know if you feel disappointed or relieved to see that, indeed, he wasn't lying when he said he had shorts. "All this nakedness was fun and all, but I admit I didn't come here just to show you all my junk." Something sparks in his eye. Sarcasm. Wow. You didn't think you would live to see the day when Jacob could be happily sarcastic again, and around _you_. It truly was a miracle.

"Are you sure?" you reply with just as much sarcasm dripping in your voice. Suddenly it's become a game. Suddenly you're enjoying yourself. What a nice change. "Because I was beginning to think that's what your sole purpose in coming here was—to find an appropriate environment to show off how hot you are naked." The words are out before you can stop them. Your face burns again, probably more than ever before.

Jacob doesn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary, though, and for this you are grateful. He just laughs. "So you _did_ enjoy the sights, then? That's good."

"Shut up."

"Whatever you say."

"Shut up!"

Turns out that something great can only last for as long as it is meant to. Because, before you knew what was happening next, Jacob was suddenly the dark, angry stranger that you'd grown to hate over the past few weeks. There was no glimpse of his old self—the part of him that could be joking and sarcastic around you and not even feel anything was wrong about it. No, that part was gone now. For the time being, or at least you hoped that with all your soul.

Natalie is found sobbing in Sam and Emily's kitchen, her face hovering over the table top, covered by her hands, her hair wet with tears. She doesn't hear when you and Jacob enter; her cries are much too loud. Not even Emily (who sits in the seat next to Natalie, patting her shoulder awkwardly) hears, and she's not even the one crying. It's a strange, depressing sight, as you view it like a horror movie in the dim light of the kitchen. You can't help but acknowledge somewhere in the back of your head that _you_ are the cause for all these bad things that were continually happening to the people around you. You are the reason that Natalie's sobbing; you are the reason that Jacob can't find his true self again; you are the reason for virtually any and all things bad that happened around here.

And you, miraculously, had gotten used to it. Even more so since you could find nothing to do about it.

Jacob's face is a look of pure torment. You feel like he should never have looked that way because of someone that wasn't _you_. It makes you feel strangely envious. Such a wrong, wrong feeling, when someone other than you was suffering so much. And whether that someone was Jacob or Natalie, you could not be absolutely sure.

He walks forward slowly, you following warily behind, feeling like an unwelcome guest; a misfit in a situation that you ought not to be involved in. What did Jacob bring you here for? What was there that you could do? Did he purposely want you to see how true his and Natalie's relationship was, just so that you could finally give up on him?

You are sure Jacob wouldn't purposely do something like that. You are sure that he would know how painful that would be for you to watch. So, what, then? Was he going to explain things anytime soon?

"Natalie," he finally whispers.

She literally jumps a foot in her seat as she recognizes at last that Jacob is there. Her eyes are strained, bloodshot; you had no idea that Natalie could behold so much emotion. Somehow, before now, you never really thought that humans were capable of such a thing. Perhaps it was just one other thing you took for granted, along with about a hundred other things you know you had yet to discover.

You look away from the horrible sight. Instead, you look for Emily's reaction.

She glares; her eyes are full of so much anger and spite, you being to wonder what Jacob had ever done to Emily to make her look that way, so full of hatred of malice, towards Jacob.

Natalie hiccoughs as she struggles to form words.

"Jake," she sighs at last.

Before you know what's happening, Natalie pushes her chair back and nearly flings herself over the table into Jacob's arms. To give them somewhat an air of privacy (although you're not sure if Natalie has even noticed you, anyway), you step back a few feet so that your hand can reach backward for the doorknob, if ever the time calls for you to leave at short notice.

It's embarrassing, it's torture, it's basically cruel to watch such a touching moment between a human girl and the boy that you love. Because, yes, obviously you do love Jacob; you accepted that fact long ago. Just now, though, is when you truly realize the extent of your love for him. You used to think that Jacob was always just there; you could call for him whenever and it wouldn't matter to him if the time was bad or not. If you were being honest with yourself, there never was a bad time in which Jacob couldn't answer your calls. Again, that was just something you took for granted.

But when someone actually came along to _challenge_ all of your previous beliefs on the subject of Jacob, _that_ was when you knew you never actually gave enough credit to Jacob for all of the countless times he was there for you; so many nights were there when he stayed up with you till four in the morning, whispering jokes and providing conversation with you over the phone when you were in need of the sound of his husky voice for whatever reason. So many hours had been spent in his garage, laughing and smiling and drinking warm sodas and cold pizza, as you recalled the day before and complained about school. You could tell anything to him, anything at all, not matter how trivial or small… It didn't matter. It _never_ mattered, not to Jacob, not when it came to you.

You always knew you were selfish for taking such a great thing like having Jacob in your life, and not even realizing just how much he gave up for you, just how truly great of a person he was.

But where you stand now, witnessing a terrifying scene unfolding before your very eyes (the scene in which you slowly begin to realize that Jacob might not ever again be there for you in the way you wanted him to be), you begin to understand and almost—_almost_, but not quite—accept the fact that you had to give Jacob over to someone else sooner or later. When the time proved itself to be sooner than you wanted it to be, it was more painful than you could have imagined. You never wanted it to come to this, but all the same, you can't be surprised that it did.

"Bella's here, too," Jacob says, interrupting your reverie and making you jump. The fact that he could still do that to you is more than enough to send a pang of sorrow through your chest. "She… well… we need to explain things to her, Natalie. She's wondering why I'm here."

That's when Emily speaks up. "She is, really? Well, I think that's something we _all_ would like to know! Since when did you ever care about Natalie's well-being? Since when did you become oh-so concerned about your own girlfriend? Since when did that ever matter to you?" She yells the words, causing you to flinch, even though they weren't words directed to you. You see in front of you that Jacob is flinching as well, looking towards the ground, shame-faced. "Can you even begin to realize how much Natalie has worried about you over these past few days? Can you even comprehend how she felt when she saw your thoughts about how you were deciding never to come back, and just leave her in the dust, broken-hearted? Does your imprint mean _nothing_ to you? Can you not at least _respect_ this magic?"

_Saw his thoughts?_ you think, enormously baffled. _What the hell does that mean?_

"Em," Natalie speaks up. Although her words are quiet, they reach to Emily's ears and she automatically cools down. "This isn't helping anything."

Emily again glowers at Jacob. "Of course it's not," she huffs angrily, her words much quieter, "because Jacob's too thick-headed to realize the truth of any of my words."

"That's not true," Jacob mutters. "You don't understand. You can't know how it feels, how much it felt at first… when I realized—" His voice begins to shake.

Again you feel like you're just an unwelcome onlooker on a scene that isn't meant for your eyes. You feel as though you'd just walked into the middle of a movie, without having any clue what the plot was about. To sum it all up, you feel confused. More than confused. You don't want to have to voice your troubles in the midst of all the tension, but you feel that you might as well leave any second if no one was going to explain something soon.

So, instead, you wait.

"You're right," Emily says, her voice suddenly dripping with understanding and respect. The sudden tension in the room dissolves into sadness. "I can't know, exactly, despite me and Sam… Well… I shouldn't have… I'm sorry."

Jacob smiles slightly. With each passing second, your brain only hurts more and more as you try to take in all of what is being said. "S'alright," he murmurs. "I'll try not to act so… impulsively, if ever something like this happens… again."

Emily smiles a sad smile. "Let's hope not, for the sake of you two."

Everything's gotten far too frustrating already. The urge to yell at everyone in the room is almost overpowering.

Thankfully, Natalie finally acknowledges your existence in the room. Slowly, she turns towards you. To bring about the movie comparison again, you feel as though now you're watching that one moment in the horror film in which all the characters slowly look towards the camera. Except for now, this time, the expressions on all of their faces is noticeably less tense.

"Bella ought to know about it," Natalie says.

"Definitely," Jacob agrees right away. "That _is_ why I brought her here, anyway. She needs to understand."

"Of course," Emily chimes in. "You'd probably explain it to her best, Jacob."

"I'm still in the room, guys," you say, annoyed.

Jacob looks down uncomfortably. "Right. About all this, Bella…" He scratches the back of his neck nervously. "You should take a seat first, before I… begin."

"I'll stand," you say firmly, glaring at him, straightening your position as though to prove your point.

"Always so stubborn," Jacob chuckles quietly. Natalie just smiles uncertainly.

"Well," Jacob says, clearing his throat as he reaches for a chair from the table and takes a seat on it, while Natalie takes a seat in his lap. You resist the urge to vomit. "Something has happened between me and Natalie that—as far as anyone in the pack knows—has never happened to any other imprinted couple known to man—or, uh, werewolf." He grins at his play on words.

"Get on with it," you growl, not in the mood for jokes.

Jacob frowns. "Yeah. Well, it's already known that imprinted couples already have enough involved magic and phenomenal power. But… well, just a few days ago, I realized that the thing between me and Natalie is more than that. You see, we kind of have… a bond."

You were bracing yourself for the worst, but after hearing it finally let out after all the climatic buildup, you can't say that you're particularly impressed.

You raise an eyebrow skeptically. "A bond, huh?" you say sarcastically. "Oh my, I would have never guessed you two had a _bond_. Especially not after you'd imprinted, started dating, and who knows what else." You make a _psh_-ing sound. "No, a _bond_ had never even entered my mind." A roll of your eyes.

"No, no, you don't understand, it's not what you think," Jacob insists, looking genuinely concerned. "Just hear me out.

"Last week I was on patrol with Jared and Paul. Okay, not that the names or characters really matter ultimately, but just to lay down a little bit of a back story… Anyway, the point is… We were discussing who should mark the territory lines. Well, um, I'm sure you don't need to hear _that _part of the story, but anyway…" He seems to be struggling to find a way to word things. Whatever these _things_ were. "One moment, all I hear is Jared and Paul arguing and then the next moment, I—well, I hear another voice. One that I knew didn't belong to our pack.

"Frantically, I asked both Jared and Paul if they had any idea what that was all about, whose voice it was that was in our heads. But as it turns out, it was only in _my_ head. I was the only one that could hear it! They thought I was crazy. I thought I was, too. In fact, they probably _still_ think I'm crazy, but as that is irrelevant…" He takes a big breath. "I was panicking so much that I didn't even try and stop to hear what it was saying, or what was happening… only that there was a—seemingly—stranger's voice in my head that only I could hear.

"I ran to Sam right away, taking it for granted that he would automatically know what the hell was going on, that nothing was wrong, that it was something he never told me about, that it was something I was going through and would eventually grow out of… Anyway, when I transformed back into my human form to speak to Sam, I thought the voice would disappear, as all the voices of the pack do when I leave my wolf form. But here's the weird thing—the voice was still there, in my human form! I was thinking thoughts, but they weren't my own… and it seemed that I couldn't separate _my_ thoughts from... the _other_ thoughts."

"Jacob," you say a bit impatiently. "This back story is probably unnecessarily longer than it should be, I'm sure."

"Right," he says, his eyes looking a bit lost as he seems to be trying to skim down the story a little bit. "To sum it all up, it turns out that when I actually stopped to listen, I realized that it was _Natalie's_ thoughts I was thinking. _Natalie_. My immediate reaction was that I thought she'd turned into a werewolf as well, but then I realized she wasn't Quileute and so that made no sense—"

You clear your throat.

Jacob sighs. "Alright, here it is, Bella: Natalie and I seem to having something of a psychic... connection, when or when I am not in my wolf form, it does not matter. We've started to call it a bond—a mental bond. I feel what Natalie is feeling as she feels what I'm feeling. Our emotions and virtually everything about our current states transcends our own bodies to reach the other. We involuntarily hear each other's thoughts, emotions, and actions at _any_ given moment."

That was definitely something you were not exactly prepared to hear.


	10. Revelations

**A/N:** I had a lot of trouble with thinking of what comes next immediately after chapter 9. I believe that's the only excuse I can give for the time delay.

Tell me if you are interested in the way things are going or if you think it's awful.

**Chapter Ten.**

An immeasurable amount of time passes as you try to comprehend what Jacob has just told you. Comprehension doesn't seem to be on your side today, though; try and try as you might to grasp your head around the impossibility of a _mental bond_—and between _Jacob_ and _Natalie_, no less—you just cannot force yourself to accept that.

So, instead, you settle with disbelief and sarcasm, in the hopes that perhaps—although this is a long shot—Jacob could be just joking. Despite the fact that you knew this was definitely not the right time to joke about anything, and despite the fact that in actuality, you have absolutely no clue what to think or say.

Still, you hold off believing what has just been said for later, though you realize things could not look too good in that area for long.

You smile a small smile and finally acknowledge the three people warily expecting your reply. "Jacob, I hope you know how far out that statement sounded," you murmur politely, forcing every amount of doubtfulness you possess into your voice. You move your weight between your feet, disguising the fact that you inched a bit further backward, now in the best position to run when needed. Because, obviously, you didn't plan on staying longer than you had to.

"I know that," Jacob says uncomfortably, his eyes flashing in acknowledgement of your miniscule move away from him, though he seems to be the only one who notices. "As far out as it may be, it's still the truth. You can't believe how doubtful_ I_ felt when _I_ realized it."

You frown. Exactly how were you supposed to respond to any of this? Because they definitely were waiting for a response. Why would Jacob tell this to _you_, anyway? How did his and Natalie's super freaky bond concern _you_? Was there anything you could say?

"Well," you admit, "I'm at a loss for words."

The atmosphere in the room seems to become less intense, as though your words triggered some kind of unspoken and invisible reaction in the three people that are present before you. As though they're glad you _don't_ have a response, as though they're glad you didn't explode with anger at the news. Was that what they expected you to do? Make an angry scene about it? Obviously, you weren't exactly thrilled. No, you weren't pleased _at all_. In fact, at Jacob's _marvelous revelation_, you now feel as though your life at this point is something of a slow-moving rollercoaster, although constantly moving downwards, the end hidden by nothing but bad news, bad news, and more bad news. Like a hole that everyone around you seems to be digging, trapping you inside with no way of escape, because they hadn't given you a shovel, they hadn't prepared you for this torment...

But you sure as hell weren't going admit that, not right now, and especially not in front of Emily and—oh, _especially_—Natalie.

Still, Jacob studies your face closely. Natalie unseats herself from Jacob's lap—decreasing your displeasure, but only slightly—and walks along with Emily into the kitchen as pots and pans are removed from cupboards. Appliances start running loudly and the two women begin evenly talking to each other as though the matter is settled. You take this rare opportunity to fully turn your body around and yank the door almost off its hinges in your haste to leave the place, all the while ignoring the fact that Jacob, of course, follows you out into the morning sun.

You almost expected to see your red truck sitting there in the driveway, but of course it is not. Wherever it was, you couldn't be sure, but this was obviously the least of your worries. And you still ignore Jacob's shadow that you can only see a few inches of if you didn't turn your head to look back at him. Calmly, you take the road you know directs back to Forks, deciding irrationally, but seeing no other option, to walk the whole way. You didn't want to have to depend on Jacob for anything anymore. Clearly, he had other priorities. So why would he still follow you?

"A mental bond," you mutter under your breath, knowing full well that Jacob could hear you perfectly, but still acting as though you were speaking to yourself. He seems to be trying to respect your personal space by following just a few yards behind you. "A fucking _mental bond_! What the hell am I supposed to say to that?"

Jacob would have to do or say something sooner or later, wouldn't he? In the meantime, though, you try focusing on your feet not tripping over the rough, rock-covered road, looking up only once in awhile to be sure you weren't drifting off the road or going to run into a tree.

"This is ridiculous," Jacob says suddenly, his voice much closer than you had anticipated, making you jump in shock. "Oops—sorry."

"Geez, Jake," you say breathlessly, seeing that he's only two feet away from you, looking like he was prepared to catch you if you fell or something. "And what are you talking about? What's ridiculous?"

"You walking the entire fifteen miles home, that's what's ridiculous. Wouldn't you rather drive?"

You feel just about ready to slap someone. "Gee, Jake, that's very considerate of you," you drawl sarcastically. "Giving me_ my own_ truck to drive home in. What a concept."

"No, I didn't mean _your_ car," Jacob says, ignoring your rudeness. "Your car's way too far away. I'll tell Embry to pick it up later. But I could run to my house and get the Rabbit to drive you home in and be back in about thirteen seconds. Okay, maybe that's an exaggeration. But still."

You scowl, conceding to the fact that it would be very brainless to refuse a ride home when it was offered to you. That, and the fact that you must have been away from home for nearly an entire day. It was best that you were home as soon as possible. Charlie certainly would be worried.

"Alright," you say reluctantly. "Better get running, then. I'll time you."

Jacob laughs just once, throwing a comment over his shoulder as he recedes: "Don't break any bones while I'm away."

For just a second after he's gone, you actually do think about timing him. On any other day (any other day that was more than two months ago), you would have done just that. You would tell Jake his time when he got back, he would joke about blowing seconds off of it next time, and you would probably shoot back something clever, laughing as he did something like tussle your hair or literally sweep you off your feet and set you back down again. And that would basically be the story of your life. _Would_.

But not now. Not ever.

You quickly erase that thought, laugh at yourself for being so hopeless, and stand guardedly on the edge of your toes, uncomfortably and almost hesitantly awaiting his return.

The drive home was not pleasant. Not _un_pleasant, but not _pleasant_, either. If you were to sum it up in one word, that word would be _awkward_. There seemed to be nothing to say. It wasn't the same as it would have been, under different, more preferred, circumstances.

And twenty minutes later, you stumble into Charlie's living room.

You vaguely fill in Charlie's questions with answers, and surprisingly there aren't many; apparently he called around and was informed that you were perfectly fine, in the presence of Jake, which was only partly true. Charlie tries not to show his alarm at your state—the open flesh on your cheek, new blood now blocked by dry blood, somewhat infected; your face, muddy and red from crying. Jacob seemed to not want to keep his promise about getting it taken care of, but you try not to let that hurt you too bad. It wasn't exactly the first thing on your mind on the way over to Charlie's house.

Nevertheless, Charlie quickly erases his alarm (probably as not to alarm _you_) to be replaced by a kind of wary cheeriness, assuming at once that you just tripped and fell and one point or other, as it always happens. Which was only partly true. But you smile and nod your approval, saying something like, "Yes. That's totally what happened," not wanting to go into details about your pitiful runaway the night before, and definitely not wanting to worry Charlie. Lightheartedly he tells you to take a shower, as well as offering to take you to the hospital. "No," you say immediately, then nothing more.

But it didn't matter anymore, and made you feel shallow and foolish for letting one person affect you so much, to actually get the idea that you were _running away_... Ugh. How stupid could you be?

You wouldn't let anyone do that to you ever again. No matter what happened. No matter how much you wanted to just break down crying. You _would not_ let that happen.

You trudge slowly up to your room, your clothes still somewhat soaking from the shower of rain the night before. You're wearing so many layers and your clothes couldn't find enough dry air, bunched together on your body as they were for a day. Not to mention, you could never be totally dry anytime you walked outside—there always seemed to be a light mist falling upon Washington at all times, in your experience of the outdoors, at least. Maybe you just have bad luck. Yeah, you _definitely_ have bad luck.

You close the door and immediately run to pull the blinds of your windows shut. You strip your mushy clothes off in the privacy of your dark room, sighing as you see your figure in the mirror atop your vanity stand, stumbling around and looking pathetic. You silently drop your clothes in the hamper, pick up a semi-used towel from your floor and try your best to wring out your hair and dry your damp, cold body as much as possible, carefully avoiding your bloody cheek.

Very hesitantly, you flick the light switch by your door upwards, almost blinded by the dull light that the lamp hanging from the ceiling in the middle of your room gives off. Your eyes hadn't tolerated so much direct light for awhile. Even before, as the sun peaked its way through the clouds for even a few seconds, you either closed your eyes or looked down.

Then, you brace yourself, looking at your naked body in the full-length mirror hanging on the back of your door.

You look worse than you thought you would.

Your hair straggles in clumps down your chest on either side of your neck. Drops still very slowly and occasionally trickle from the ends, sliding down the round shape of your breasts (which are bruised purple from falling so hard) before finding better purchase on the smoother skin of your body, finally reaching the carpet. Your face is an almost perfect example of what your insides feel like: sore and emotionally bruised and—_ow_. Starving.

You notice after a few seconds that you've begun to tear up again. "No," you say fiercely, "no more crying. Not now, not ever, and _definitely_ not over—"

You purposely don't allow yourself to finish.

But it did no good basking in the horror that was you. You probably would have time to feel sorry for yourself later—but first things first. That meant taking a shower. And a _hot_ shower, at that.

Afterwards, you carefully cleanse your cheek with peroxide and Neosporin and place a large bandage over the damaged skin. As you study your face closely, you notice unhappily you've begun to break out. Bad. Your complexion had never really been this way—it usually wasn't like you to stress so much. But, you realize, if any of this were to go away (any of your problems, in general), you had to stop stressing so much. And stop falling in the mud so much. And maybe... a bit of sun on the sunniest days wouldn't hurt.

You quickly pull on your favorite old sweats, loving how they smell like detergent and... warmth. Then you pull a large t-shirt (once owned by Charlie) over your head. For a few minutes you stand over the heater in the bathroom and savor the feeling of being freshly clean, and, more importantly, warm.

You head downstairs to get a quick bite to eat. Charlie is—as usual—watching his favorite sports channel. As you pass by him, he smiles and says, "Sorry you had such a rough day, Bells. Have a good sleep."

You smile too, a small smile, just to make your voice sound somewhat as cheery as you reply, "It's okay, Dad. Thanks. See you later," and proceed to locking yourself up in your bedroom.

The sight that meets your eyes as you turn around should not have taken you by surprise—but lately, you hadn't exactly been in the favor of the opposite. Or maybe it was the fact that it is _Embry_ sitting upon your bed, not Jacob, almost as you half-expected (or hoped) him to be, that shocks you senseless.

His dark form would not have been visible if your wall was a few shades darker—and already he was extremely difficult to pick out, half of his body being in front of your mahogany dresser. But you can vaguely see the contours and shadows of his face, lit up by the filtered—and thin strips of—light that escapes through your opaque curtains. The skin between his eyebrows is pulled together worriedly. He crouches slightly as you enter, but jumps up once you take notice in him. You stumble upon your feet (as you were about to head over to your bed to settle in for a full day's rest) and try not to make the gasp that escapes your mouth too conspicuous.

For just a few seconds, the two of you stand and just stare at each other, both seeming to be just as confused. Embry's face contains an expression that practically screams, _What the hell am I doing here, again? _You could ask him the same exact question.

It takes much too long for your eyes to comprehend what they're seeing—but when awkwardness takes over shock and tension, you walk over to the opposite side of the bed, looking down at the covers and trying to find something to say. But there's nothing. You're absolutely speechless.

Thankfully, Embry makes the first move.

"I—guess I should probably gets this over with," he mutters. But he pauses for several seconds, not seeming to know how to start again.

Finally you find your voice. "What are you doing here, Embry?" is all you come up with.

"Jake," he says simply, looking up to see your reaction. But you don't let yourself react. He speaks again after another long pause, taking in a big breath before starting. "He... wanted me to... explain things for him."

"Then that's very considerate of you," you murmur, crossing your arms.

A little something flashes in Embry's eyes—hope, maybe? Wistfulness? Or maybe that was just his eyes way of saying 'thank you'.

"Well, he said that he told me all you needed to know, so if you have any questions, I might not be able to answer them," he continues. You wait patiently. "Right... here we go." He takes another big breath.

"No doubt you're confused by the... mental bond shit, right?" You simply nod, not willing yourself to show any emotion. "I figured you'd be, and so did Jake. That's... why I'm here, I guess. He... needed to be with Natalie." He scrunches his eyebrows together again, seeming to concentrate very hard on where to begin. Again, you're silent. "So, he thinks you were probably confused by him freaking out before, you know, right before he rode you over to Sam's house. Well, first things first: I'll bet you didn't know that Jake wasn't being completely honest when he told you that his and Natalie's brain-connection-thingy works all the time, whether he's in his wolf or human form."

You aren't entirely sure what he means. "What?"

"Yeah," he says softly, that somewhat hopeful look in his eyes coming back. "He couldn't tell you the complete truth in the presence of Natalie... and, believe it or not, he can hardly tell you the truth when you two are all alone. God knows why. Jake didn't exactly explain that part to me very well..." He looks down in concentration again.

"Well, go on!" you urge impatiently.

Embry nods. "To get right to the point—apparently, Jacob says that he can _shut Natalie out_. Whenever he wants to. Natalie doesn't know this, but he's positive it won't stay that way forever. This isn't exactly something you can just lie about, especially when they're both supposed to know each other's thoughts at all times, you know?"

Meanwhile, the only things you can do are stand there with an open mouth and disbelievingly stare at Embry's face, trying to find any evidence that he may be lying. There's nothing, though. He's definitely telling the truth.

Embry doesn't wait for a response, thankfully. "So, the reason he freaked out so much about Natalie before is because he'd shut her out for _more than an_ _entire day_. Which, as you probably know, is an extremely uncommon thing between the imprinter and the imprintee. Jake says he'd never been away from her that long, but realizing that he had when you brought her up made him totally freak out. And it made it even worse that he'd completely shut her out of his brain for that long, too. It affects both people, both ways, so I'm assuming Natalie was probably in deep distress."

"Yeah," you finally manage to croak. "I... had talked to her the day before I saw Jake for the first time in a long time. She was definitely in... distress." Remembering the look on her face that day (just yesterday, really?) brings shivers to your spine. You could only imagine the pain she was in.

She was the one in a sort of mythical, magical and forceful relationship here—not you. She must have felt worse than you at that time if she was separated from Jacob for more than a day, being his imprint and all. Before, when Jacob was explaining to you the concept of imprinting, he told you the effects being away from your imprint for just a day could have. Now you finally understood.

"So, you understand," Embry continues, seemingly glad he knows what words to use now. "Apparently, they both experienced physical pain from their short-term separation. Nat experienced headaches while Jacob literally felt a sort of fatigue in his gut—only after he realized what had happened. Jake thinks this is because Nat can't shut _him_ out of _her_ head, so it was weird having him there one second, then the next second being forcefully erased. Jake didn't have anything happen at first because she was completely gone, thus not on his mind at all." Again he pauses, while you feel breathless. "The day before you saw Natalie was the day their mental thing established... I guess. Both of them felt crazed, but Jake was crazed enough, while not fully understanding yet, that he shut Natalie out.

"But then—and here's where it gets really weird—when he wants to, he can allow her into his brain again, which he started to do again after he realized he'd shut her out for so long. And it doesn't stop there—_God_, sorry this is so complicated," he grumbles. "I'm only repeating what Jake said for me to say. Anyway, apparently when they're together, their mental bond no longer functions. At that point, they can just tell each other what's on their mind. No need for a mental bond, you know? Which is why Jake could explain to you what he thought made sense to Nat. But afterwards, when he was driving you home, he let her back into his head—while blocking out certain things he didn't want her to hear. Still, he knew he wouldn't be able to explain all this very good... and apparently _I can_," he complains sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "Whatever. Any questions?"

"Excuse me?" you manage to choke. Did he really just say everything you thought he said? "So, let me get this straight. Jacob can just... control this whole mental bond thing? I thought this was something forced upon both of them! At least that's what it seemed like when he explained it."

"Exactly," Embry says, nodding. "He made it seem like that, only because that's what Natalie believes, and because he's got it all figured out and _she_ doesn't. He told me it was something about having a wider knowledge things on all things weird."

"I wonder how long it'll be until she figures this all out," you mumble mostly to yourself.

Embry barks a sharp laugh. "I give it a day."

"But—what'll happen when she _does_ figure it out? What will that mean for me?" You become suddenly frightened, not wanting to face a torrent of despair again.

Embry seems to think hard about your question for a few moments, but then just shrugs his shoulders. "I dunno. Personally, I'm gonna try hard to not get involved in this shit-fest. I suggest you do the same."

"But... you're, like, basically Jacob's messenger, right?" you point out.

Embry glares at nothing in particular. "Something like that. Regrettably." He sighs and takes a wide view of your bedroom. You blush as you realize how filthy you let it get over the last two months. "Nice place you got here," he says wryly. You shrug and giggle slightly at his attempt at small talk. "Anyways, I should probably get going now..." He heads for the window, which you just barely notice through the curtains is wide open.

Suddenly, you panic. Your small smile fades instantly to be replaced by an expression of horror. Your eyes widen in fear, and your heart does an uncomfortable flop in your chest, making a dull kind of ache.

Embry pulls aside the curtains, positioning himself to jump. "Well, see ya later," he murmurs, and looks back at you. His eyes fill with worry as he notices your expression. "...Bella? What's—"

You speak quickly. "You really have to leave right now? Don't—_don't_ leave, _please don't leave_." You climb over your bed to reach the window and grab his shoulders desperately. "I can't be alone right now," you whisper sadly. "I need... someone... I—I need _you_." You're amazed at how earnest your words are, even if spoken a bit rashly.

He jumps down from the window seal, his face absolutely baffled, and turns to face you. He speaks after a long time, quietly, slowly, "..._Me_?"

You take a deep breath and make sure your words are honest before speaking them. "Yes," you say just as softly. "You. _Please_. You're here now, I don't want you to leave, and I'd be all alone..." You begin hyperventilating at the thought of being alone... all alone... yet again...

He quickly grabs you by the shoulders and pulls you to his bare chest—the chest that is so warm, so much like...

"Don't worry," he whispers to into your hair. "I'll stay, then. Sorry I scared you."

You find your hands through the numbness, put them between you and him, and push him back ever slightly to get a good look at his handsome face. You never realized just how handsome Embry really was. But now, only inches from him, you could see each line that came with growing up too fast, each black strand of hair that reached just past his ears, each crack in his lips. The lips that were slowly getting bigger as you stood on your tiptoes to reach them. The lips you press yours against, softly, cautiously, until you are sure he gets the message and begins kissing you back. It seems to be a whole century later when you both part, breathing hard from lack of oxygen. Again he embraces you.

"Thank you," you whisper into his dark skin, for more than one thing.

From there, you lead him easily to your bed, lying down first and then bringing him down with you. He lifts his long legs onto the creaky bed frame, letting them dangle slightly off the end. You don't bother with blankets—after all, Embry was warm enough for that. You up curl into a ball, shaping yourself to the bend of his hips. He sprawls his arm over you uncertainly, and you grasp hold of it tightly with both of yours to assure him that it is where it is wanted.

It's remarkably easy to take all unpleasant thoughts from your head to be replaced by happy ones. You were so deprived of sleep that it seemed your brain was liable to shut down as well, and you are not able to think too hard about yours and Embry's conversation that took place just minutes ago.

Only moments later, your exhausted eyes close, and sleep consumes you. You are aware of the werewolf lying next to you, even in unconsciousness.

And for the first time in what seems like forever, you sleep dreamlessly.


	11. Greed

**A/N: **Oh, geez, you guys, I seriously am loving all the reviews I am receiving. Really. I can't tell you how much they mean to me. I literally smile as I read each of your positive reviews—they're what drove me to write this chapter so quickly. Thank you guys _so much_, I'm glad you're liking what you've read so far.

Considering I almost just threw this chapter together in less than a day, I find it extremely enjoyable.

**Chapter Eleven.**

Every night for the next two weeks, Embry appears in your room through the window.

You don't talk about much of anything, really—just things that don't matter, things that do matter, things that happened before the magic of werewolves and vampires ruined everybody's lives. Things to do with your childhood. Favorite things; least favorite things. Long-term habits. Jokes. Memories. Everything and anything that happened in yours or his past, good or bad. By the end of one week, you're sure there's not one person in the entire world you know better than Embry Call. Maybe it was reciprocated for him.

And for the first time in a long time, you're actually... _happy_. Yes, that was the appropriate word to use.

Embry is wonderful company. Endless streams of interesting things pour out of his mouth when prompted. You can't help but somehow feel better about yourself whenever he's around. He laughs at your lame jokes and funny memories, listens intently at the times most called for, and most importantly, he _respects_ you. Anything and everything about you. And, for the first time ever, you get the feeling that you can and will talk to another person about Edward, and Embry was definitely that person.

So, you talk to him about it. Not once does he interrupt. He doesn't snicker, or roll his eyes, or show any evidence that he may not be listening to you. In fact, he seems too engrossed in your past love life (and _Edward_, being a vampire, for God's sake), that you literally begin crying. Not so much because of your damaged past. No, the real reason you cry is because you were beginning to think that not a soul would care about your silly fling with a vampire—and especially not a werewolf. You cry because, well, at least _one_ thing could turn out alright in the midst of so much hell.

He is so attentive to everything you say, sincerely and honestly attentive because he cares about you, and you are beyond touched.

He stays awake with you, late into each night. He waits until your speech is slurred from being so tired, waits until your eyes have closed and your breathing has steadied. But not before placing a kiss upon your lips. Each night, the same, comfortable, _desirable_ routine. And each night, you smile just a bit larger, and each night, you become more ecstatic at the most simple things in life. And to think that _Embry_—a person you never gave a second thought about before—could make such a remarkable change in your life.

So, the first week he visits you, you talk.

And the next six days after that, you talk.

And on the last day of the second week, you feel the need to do so much more.

It begins like any other regular evening involving the presence of Embry. After your door is shut tight, you literally sprint to the window and push it open as wide as it will go. The cool breeze of the night sways your hair back and forth gently, along with your curtains, dries your hair slightly from the shower you took a few minutes ago. You see the line of light over the mountains to your left, where the sun has already retired for the day. Darkness slowly settles upon the leafy ground below you, making the swaying tree's shadows look ominous. The leaves ruffle in the trees noisily as the night gets windy—you can hear crickets, toads, and owls calling in the distance.

You rush over to the light switch and flip it on, then review your image in the full-length mirror.

The silk pajamas that you never before wore in your entire life had been dug up from a box underneath your bed to be worn especially for this occasion—when Embry came over. The top is sleeveless (just barely reaching below your belly button), with skinny shoulder straps that occasionally slip down your shoulders. The bottoms are nothing but short-shorts that hardly cover your thighs, giving about four inches between the outline of your underwear and the edge of the shorts. Instead of wearing a sports bra or no bra at all as you usually did to sleep in, you wore the laciest, sexiest bra you owned, which was also hidden away at the back of your underwear drawer, along with a matching pair of underwear, both bought for you by Renee, who seemed to have some wild fantasy that her daughter was going to become an underwear model someday or something. Both pieces are black, and extremely conspicuous through the see-through, light pink fabric of your pajamas.

Your hair is brushed and flattened to perfection, unlike the usual "tie up, throw over the shoulder and get in bed" thing you stuck with until now. A thick layer of mascara was added to your eyelashes (which was an extreme change from your usual thin, or more usually nonexistent, layer of makeup you wore).

It had been so long since you actually had someone to look nice for, but while you did, you were going to take advantage of it and look as sexy as possible. Even if you were just going to bed in a few hours anyway. Or, maybe, tonight, just a little bit _more_ than a few hours.

You stare at yourself uncertainly, wondering if you were overdoing things, wondering if perhaps you didn't need to dress up at all to impress Embry... if perhaps it was just _silly_. So, you don't know why you _did_ dress up—you hadn't ever before until tonight.

_It's because tonight's going to be different—special_, you remind yourself. _And_ _I'll make it that way, even if _he_ doesn't._

You turn the light off and run back to the window again, resting your elbows upon the thin window frame and holding your chin in your palms. From where you sit, you begin slowly to appreciate the eerie view of your yard at night, the forest only yards away. And then you wait, your stomach doing flip-flops in anticipation of his arrival.

It doesn't take very long—it never does. You've been told Embry's pack schedule, and memorized it: He takes the late evening shift and the 3 A.M. shift, immediately running to your house afterwards, which is unbelievably convenient, considering the times you wanted him with you. The pack took turns switching around the jobs once every two weeks, you learned. Which was why you were so desperate to kick things up a notch, just this one night, before you wouldn't be able to see him as regularly for more than a month. Because how then could you distract yourself from disastrous thoughts if Embry wasn't there? Would you be forced into your regular, miserable habits once more?

From the porch light still on in the front yard, you see the shadows shifting in the trees, and from them emerges Embry. Even from two stories up, you can tell that he is exhausted. That worries you; ruins your spirit. Maybe tonight wouldn't be as fun, you think. Maybe it would just a rerun of what's happened every night for the past week. And, right now, that wasn't a good thing. You had planned so much for this moment, this precise moment right now.

Being in a dark room late at night, with an extremely handsome boy you've fallen in love with, with absolutely no parental supervision whatsoever, and just sitting there doing nothing but _talking_, is probably the most infuriating things of all time, you realize. Tonight, you really planned on doing so much more. But... if Embry believed in abstinence as much as he appeared to when he was around you, not to mention if he was extremely tired, then tonight was going to be an extremely difficult night in which to get your way.

Embry now moves closer to the house with lightning quick reflexes, calling up softly to you, "Hey, Bella." At the sound of his voice you grin widely.

From there he swings himself up to your window, using the out-of-place siding on the wall and using the nearest tree to push his feet up, swinging his body around like a cartwheel in midair, to land soundlessly on the balls of his feet inside your bedroom. You move backwards at the last second—you always love seeing his amazing acrobatic skills each night he visits. You're awed at his coordination, and can only wish you were as such. Of course, that specific thing might be included in the package of becoming a werewolf.

Embry dusts off the back of his cutoff jean shorts with one hand, then looks at you, overdone makeup, see-through pajamas, lacy underwear and all.

At that exact moment, you wish you had a camera to capture a picture of his face.

His eyes widen to the fullest extent at seeing you all dressed up. It seems he doesn't even see your face. Instantly his eyes go to your breasts, resting there for a time that is almost uncomfortable for you. From there he slowly scales your legs, his face becoming flushed, drool almost dripping from the edge of his lips. Then he slowly looks back, his eyes settling upon your face, and awed and amazed look in them. After awhile he seems to finally realize his mouth is hanging open stupidly. He shuts it quickly.

To cover up your embarrassment and self-consciousness in the only way you know how, you run forward to hug him, and stand like that for a few minutes in contentment.

"I missed you," you finally whisper, amazed at how your words can still sound broken even in the presence of someone you truly love—and, more importantly, someone who you are sure loves you back.

"Uhh... same here." He finally finds his voice, which sounds significantly tired and bemused. Much worse than you thought. You lean your head back to get a better look at his face—even in the darkness, you can clearly see each bloodshot eye, and the bags that rest underneath them. His eyelids intermittently droop, and his hair is in a wild disarray, for whatever reason. To sum it all up: He looks awful.

But that's not the only thing you notice. Beneath his exhaustion, you can see something much deeper, just barely on the surface: uneasiness, anxiety, fear... There's definitely something on his mind. Something you knew you would coax out of him, sometime, maybe not right now, but sometime. Besides, if it was absolutely and immediately important, wouldn't he be the one to bring it up? Maybe he would.

But you don't focus on that right now. "Embry," you murmur reluctantly, softly stroking the skin beneath his eyes, "you... should take this time to go home and rest. It's not healthy for you to lose so much sleep... just seeing me."

Embry chuckles once: a weary laugh, drained of humor. "Don't worry about it, Bells. It's definitely worth it. I like seeing you." He takes a long look at your body again. "I _really_ like seeing you."

You weren't exactly in the mood to giggle, as you might have otherwise. You stare at him sternly. "Don't be stupid. How could it be worth it when you're just losing a full night's sleep every night you come? I mean, I know you sleep during the day, but lately it seems like that's not enough for you. Which I completely understand, so don't feel inclined to stay just because I want you to."

"But you see, that's exactly why I'm staying: because you want me to. And because _I_ want to. And I'm okay, _really_," he insists, but his voice and his face contradict his words. "Besides, my being tired has nothing to do with you; I would be tired, anyway. The pack is kind of... running extra shifts these days."

The fearful, worried look is back in his eyes again. Maybe he would take this time to explain things. You pay strict attention.

"Why?"

He seems startled that you asked that, and composes himself much too late. "Uh... it's no big deal, really. You know, just some extra precautions."

"Extra precautions? For _what_, Embry?" you insist stubbornly.

He smiles a blinding, toothy smile. "I told you, it's not a big deal. Absolutely nothing you should worry about."

You sigh, your eyebrows furrowed, giving up—for now. "Well, that doesn't take away the fact that you still need your sleep. I command you to leave, now." You poke a finger at his chest.

"Oh, Bella," he chuckles, regarding your demand as a joke.

"I mean it," you stress.

He completely ignores you and settles himself down on the floor against the window. He can't seem to keep his head up any longer—he leans it back against the wall with a loud _thump_ that you swear shook the walls.

"_Be quiet_," you hiss, abnormally aware of Charlie's snoring in the next room over.

Embry just grins and slowly closes his eyes. Only seconds later, a soft snoring is audible to be coming from his now gaping mouth. Not for the first time, you envy the werewolves' amazing ability to fall asleep so quickly.

You sigh. You don't want him to leave, and he doesn't appear to want to either. So, was this just you making a problem where a problem didn't exist?

_No_, you think, sure of yourself. _It can't be good for him to visit me if it means he's sleep deprived_.

Suddenly you get an idea—a stupid, pointless one, that was true, but an idea nonetheless. It would make things much more interesting.

Quietly, you tiptoe over to where he sits and place yourself gently upon his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. He instantly wakes, looking startled and confused. Noticing you sitting on him, he seems to become placated and leans his head against the wall again. But this time, you doubt he'll fall asleep.

Slowly, you lean your head closer until you can taste his breath through your mouth. His eyes grow to slits, peeking at you under his dark eyelids.

"As soon as I kiss you," you speak softly, "you're going to suddenly get the strength of a thousand suns to jump right back out that window and head on home for a good night's rest, okay?"

He sluggishly nods his approval, obviously amused. Underestimating your power.

Then you press your lips to his and kiss him: once, twice, three times, till he begins to wake up, more and more with each kiss. Then he kisses you back, suddenly crushing his body to yours (causing you to emit a gasp of pleasure and surprise) so that you're constricted in his arms. He sloppily kisses your face, mostly missing your mouth. You feel nothing but Embry; taste nothing but Embry; feel nothing but Embry's heat. You're so overwhelmed from his lips against that you begin to breathe hard and shallow, catching his mouth with yours at every opportunity, his tongue occasionally running against yours. You can feel his large hands pressing hard against the small of your back, sometimes catching the edge of your shirt in between his fingers so that you feel the skin of his hands against the skin of your back.

The abruptness of his wild attack on your lips catches you completely off guard, but you weren't going to stop him anytime soon.

_Oh, my_, you think. _Perhaps this night will go my way after all._

And he doesn't stop there. He abruptly moves his lips from your mouth to your chin, then your neck, then your chest. He begins using his tongue to continue the amazing feeling of bliss radiating throughout your entire body. You urge him forward, hugging his head tightly to your torso, sighing when you feel a tickly, never-before-experienced sensation in the lower half of your body. You're sweating in the ridiculous heat, but you don't mind at all. His hips rub hard against yours, again and again, making you gasp and moan in delight.

His hands begin moving further up your back, taking the edge of your lacy top along with them; you reach your hands back to help him with the removal of your top, your heart beating so hard you're sure it's about to explode, the feeling in the lower half of your body crazily anticipating it, and you think, _Here it is, here it comes, it's really about to_ _happen_—

"Jake...," you moan.

In that moment, everything stands still. Embry's body instantly freezes against your own, his mouth moving no more, his hands set at his sides. Nothing more happens. Nothing at all. And you realize too late that Jacob, in fact, is not the boy who just kissed you. Not the boy who is in your room at this exact moment, not the boy initiating your arousal.

_Oh, my God_, you panic. _How could I say that? How did I make that slip? What the hell just happened? It was an accident, a mistake, I—I didn't mean to, I know it was horrible of me but I sincerely didn't mean to!_

But you know that wouldn't matter to Embry.

And before you know what's happened, his hands tightly grip your upper arms and you are swiftly brought up to stand on your feet again, your hair a wild, sweaty mess, your shirt still halfway up your back. You know you look like a fool. And a damn fool, at that.

And the last view you see of Embry that night is of his bare back disappearing through your window, his legs springing forward to propel him, his arms in the air as he braces the fall. He doesn't even make a sound. Nothing but the whisper of the trees follows his departure through the window.

He doesn't come back.

-x-

So, back to the beginning.

Your eyes glaze over. Charlie stares. Time passes. Weeks, probably. (Except for this time you weren't going to bother counting. Not this time.) Mirrors become a constant enemy, along with yourself.

And you dream again, which was always something you feared over everything else. Because dreams always stuck with you, whether you wanted them to or not. And now, they were like poison. Permanent images in your mind that can never be extracted. All involving, in some way or another, you losing all the people you love in a short and immediate amount of time. Oftentimes Edward crept back into these dreams, completely against your will. It made no sense to still dwell on him, so you don't know why it kept coming up, time and time again. What you had with him was long gone and completely through with, unlike how you only just _recently_ were broken because of Embry, almost as soon as Jacob seemed to be through with you. Same old, same old.

Except for this time, you have _two_ boys (maybe three? Did Edward really count, still?) to be depressed over. How in the hell did that happen? _Really_? How could you have made such a stupid, stupid decision to bring two people in your life who were practically brothers? It was probably—definitely—the most thoughtless thing you've ever done.

And now you were broken (yet again) because of it.

You should have never started anything with Embry in the first place. You should have seen it was coming before it actually, you know, came.

But... was that all it really amounted to? Did you only continue seeing Embry because he reminded you so much of... Jacob...? How could you have been so shallow?

_No_, you think time and time again, _what Embry I had was real. I'm sure of it_.

But as that phrase gets more repetitive, so does the thought that maybe you were lying to yourself all along. Maybe you only took Embry as a quick fix—the gas station to your tank when it was running on empty. And, seeing as he was the closest one around—and the one most likely to fill your immediate needs—he was the one you took. And took advantage of. And then you drove too far, past the speed limit you knew existed somewhere, somehow. And now you were going to pay for it.

It just wasn't fair.

"Next time Mike Newton asks me out," you say aloud to your mirror one day, "God damnit, I swear I'll say yes."

Another lonely night passes.

The wound on your cheek has no faded to a light pink, giving you a subtle reminder of everything that was your fault; everything you brought upon yourself, for absolutely no reason. Maybe if you went to a doctor it wouldn't have scarred so badly. Yes, you regret not taking the chance to go the hospital when Jacob and Charlie had both suggested it to you. Just another flaw you couldn't seem to avoid—stubbornness. At first you had the impression that being stubborn got you what you wanted, made you sound in charge, like a person who wasn't going to take any shit. But now look where it brought you—curled up into a freezing ball each night, genuinely missing the heat of a werewolf next to you.

It was just another night, alike to all the others you faced alone. Because you were still... alone.

But that's when you heard it.

It was a subtle _conk_—like someone had just thrown something hard at something else hard. A few seconds pass before you hear the sound again, more distinct this time. And then you realize that it's at your window. Someone's knocking against your window.

You lay frigid in your bed, expecting the worse, expecting someone to burst through at any moment and literally eat you alive. For the first time in a long time, you remember Victoria.

Victoria.

_Victoria_.

And you were still alone. All alone.

_Well, I guess this is it_, you think calmly, although in actuality you are positively terrified. _I guess she can't hold off hunting me forever. The least I can do is die is to let her end me quietly, so as to not startle Charlie... then beg for his life, at least once, then go down in silence so he doesn't wake up and come in here..._

There was nothing else you could do besides that. And it probably wouldn't be enough. Victoria would probably disregard your request, stalk through your house, and find Charlie asleep and snoring in his bed, more alone than you were, and vulnerable, oh so vulnerable, and more importantly full of blood...

It's all you can do to not scream aloud right then and there. You cover your mouth with your fist.

Should you open your window, or would she forcefully bust the glass into a thousand pieces? The sound would inevitably wake Charlie—you couldn't let that happen. No, that couldn't happen... So yes, you decide. You would open the window to, firstly, protect Charlie's life, and, secondly, to get it over with as quickly as possible.

You gather up any and all courage you can possibly muster and quietly get yourself out of bed and tiptoe over to the window, hating the sound of the creaking floorboards. Then you grasp the bottom of the window—_conk_—as another rock makes itself visible against the glass before falling down. Slowly, you slide the window upwards, then quicker as soon as you're sure that the metal wasn't going to squeak against each other. You half-expect to get hit in the head with a rock, but nothing comes anymore.

You close your eyes tight and breathe in and out slowly, knowing that any second Victoria could pounce through the window and tear off your head. So you brace yourself for pain, however momentary.

But it doesn't come.

Instead, you hear a voice. A whispering voice. No, a _hissing_ voice. And it's most certainly not Victoria. But it's not a voice you recognize, either.

So you risk looking out the window. You see shadows moving in the trees, and then a figure appears. A dark, tall... shirtless figure. Your heart skips a beat. But, of course, it's not either of the people you hoped for it to be.

"Hey, you," the voice hisses loudly from the ground. He was definitely from the wolf pack. But he wasn't who you would otherwise expect. "Um... Bella!" He says your name like he's not at all used to speaking it.

"Who is it?" you whisper back loudly.

"Paul," he yells quietly. You weren't expecting that. "Listen, I gotta be back soon so I wanna make this quick—God, this is stupid, can I just jump up there real quick to tell you?"

You blink. "Um, yeah, sure," you tell him, utterly baffled. "Just—mind the broken siding, would you?"

Now you feel completely and absolutely like an idiot for being so sure that it was Victoria at the window... Why did you always just have to jump to conclusions without even really being sure? Not to mention you were _way_ off. Things couldn't be any more differentiated between Victoria and... whoever was down there. Because, obviously, he does not mean to hurt you. Still, that doesn't erase the mass amount of stupidity you feel for prepping so much to meet Victoria, only to have it be someone else entirely. Still, you supposed you could never be too careful. That was a mild comfort.

Already, he's climbing his way up, ignoring your request. The siding squeaks under his weight. "Move, will ya!" he huffs, seeing you still standing in the window.

"Oh—sorry," you mutter, moving back several feet. You have to remind yourself how short-tempered Paul is, and possibly, how much he dislikes you. (At least it sure seems like it.) But, for whatever reason he was here, you were without a doubt that it wasn't to just stop in and say 'hi'.

Paul isn't as graceful and silent as Embry—or even Jake, for that matter. He lands on the floor of your bedroom with an echoing _thump _and a huff of breath. You realize he probably purposely was loud just to annoy you, because you were definitely annoyed. He laughs softly when he lands, seemingly impressed by his ability to jump through a window. He stares smugly out the window before turning to you, a glare on his face that plainly screams, _Oh, my God, I can't believe I'm here right now_. And not in a good way, either.

"Like I said, I'm gonna make this quick; it's my turn for the midnight patrol, so I gotta get back," he drawls, pulling you out of your thoughts. "And, believe me; I'm not enjoying this any more than you are."

You shrug, feigning indifference. You aren't sure what to think, exactly. So you settle with confusion.

"I didn't volunteer to be the _messenger_ or anything," Paul continues, quotation marks clearly present in his voice around the word _messenger_. "It's just that apparently everyone else is too fucking _afraid_ to tell you what I'm about to tell you or something. I dunno. Buncha pansies, if you ask me." He glares, then shakes his head.

"Um... what?"

He rolls his eyes. "Eh, Jacob and Embry think they're _protecting your brain_ or some stupid shit like that, by not telling you what you ought to know. Well, I say screw them! I usually wouldn't do you such a big favor as this, but seeing as I'm living amongst a bunch of morons who are too afraid to talk to a girl, I had to defy them in some way, you know?"

You scrunch up your face. "No, actually, I _don't_ know, Paul. So, do you mind _making this quick_, like you said, by getting to the point and telling me what the hell is up?"

Paul sighs. "Yeah, sure, whatever," he says, rolling his eyes again. "I just thought you wouldn't really mind getting some background knowledge, you know? So, anyway, here's the big fish I'm betting you didn't really know about till just now.

"That red-headed female leech—what's her name, Victoria?—yeah, well, she's in the Forks and La Push area right now, even though we thought she'd moved on. And from what we can tell of her maneuvering tactics, she's still got her mind dead set on killing you."


	12. The Return

**A/N:** I have no excuse for anything. I don't know how big of a surprise it will be to see this story on your story alerts still (God knows even I'm surprised I started this thing back up again – it's been so long), but I had an idea that's been crawling inside my head from the moment I started the first chapter and I've since made it my responsibility to not rest easily knowing that idea is still there, waiting for me to form it into words.

I mildly contemplated not allowing the events in this chapter to unfold just yet – but then I realized I've been rather evil in keeping them from you for so long that I really do owe you guys. So, here ya go.

I don't expect any of you to forgive me for this long delay, but I hope you can forget your anger at me long enough to read this chapter and enjoy it.

**Chapter Twelve.**

Time seems to stand still. Even as the seconds agonizingly turn into a minute, you still can't think of a proper response. It's as though the breath has been knocked out of you.

_What_ did Paul just say? _What_?

"What?" you finally say aloud, surprised your voice still works.

In the darkness you can see him roll his eyes and sigh in exasperation. "They told me you were slow, but I didn't realize you were _this _bad."

Even as your ears hear the insult, your brain doesn't process it enough to be properly offended by Paul's harsh tone. "You – you just said – Victoria's back? I – no, _no_, it can't – "

Paul interrupts you. "Look, I know _you _might be used to joking about vampires killing you on a regular basis – "

"No," you say, startled, "that's not what I meant at all – "

" – but _we _actually find this kind of serious," he finishes, bluntly ignoring you. He seems to be trying to formulate his next sentence with disdain clear in his eyes. "Even if it means defending some pathetic human like you."

You know you should be beyond affronted at his rude jibes, and the fact that he seems to be trying to cut you for no apparent reason (after all, you've never found Paul as someone you could easily go up to and have a pleasant conversation with – so what problem did he have with you, seeing as you've never really even spoken with him before?), but you can't find it in yourself to be offended. Your mind is still reeling over the recent bit of information he's just shared with you.

_Victoria is back in Forks_, you think, dazed. _Victoria is back in Forks, Washington._

_And she's going to kill me._

You can't believe it – you _refuse_ to believe it. In fact, you were almost to the point of ignoring the fact that vampires even existed in the first place; it was kind of easy to pretend that, because the subject of vampires or Edward hadn't been brought up in so long, you could almost find yourself comfortable in the fact you might have just made it all up in your head. It wouldn't have been the first time you were imagining things that weren't there, after all. _Like the illusions of Edward never leaving me, of Jacob never imprinting, of actually caring about me enough to stay, to deny the magic_.

But here Paul stands in front of you, still inconsiderately babbling, not aware at all of how you must be feeling. You are brought back down to earth roughly and harshly as his voice cuts into your thoughts.

"We caught her scent around the south Washington border a few days ago. So she's not exactly close enough to go into full panic mode, but I don't think it matters – you still deserve the right to know, even if Jacob and the rest of the pack disagree. Sam didn't specifically order me _not _to come and tell you – I think he's had the same idea for a while now – so, here I am," he finishes lamely.

Suddenly, Paul looks very uncomfortable and out-of-place – perhaps even embarrassed. He glances towards the ground in a would-be inconspicuous movement, and you realize something immediately.

Paul was embarrassed because he was aware of the fact, in some ways, he was doing you a huge favor, a _kindness_, even, by sneaking away from the rest of the pack in the dead of night to disclose to you top-secret information that he might potentially get into trouble for. He's never shown any amount of kindness to you before, you remind yourself, so this might even into be a blow to his self-confidence, and the illusion that in order to intimidate you, he must act unfriendly and cold at all times.

And that's why you can't help the smile that slowly starts to form on your face. He seems to notice it too, because he starts spluttering like an idiot.

"Look, I didn't want to make it seem like I was being your guardian angel, or-or something, 'cause I'm _not_, I just couldn't handle the amount of stupidity in the pack – I had to do _something_, you know, I mean – I'm living with a bunch of idiots, it was hurting my pride – "

But you're not hearing a word of it, and then suddenly, against your better judgment, your arms are thrown around his neck and your face is pressed into his chest. He stiffens slightly and for a few seconds you think he might even throw you off of him, but he thankfully doesn't.

"Thank you," you breathe into his chest. "Really. Thank you, Paul."

He tentatively raises his arms and pats your back. The gesture is awkward and stiff, but it doesn't bother you. You don't care. "Yeah... well... don't get used to me climbing in through your window for regular nighttime visits," he says warningly as he finally lowers his arms and puts them on your shoulders to put a reasonable amount of distance between you two. "I haven't been dragged into _that _trend just yet."

You feel your cheeks warming up considerably in embarrassment and shame. God, you've _really _been brainless, haven't you? Instead of making it more apparent of how Paul's words affected you, you settle for an all-business attitude. "What does this mean for the pack?"

He sighs and removes his hands from your shoulders after he seems sure you won't jump on him again. He wanders back to the window and takes a few moments to answer. You wait in dreading anticipation. You don't want to hear what he has to say, but you know you need to know.

He turns to face you and looks at you sadly, the exhaustion suddenly evident on his face. "More shifts, less breaks. Stress, tension, and a whole lot less time to fulfill our human needs, like sleeping, eating, and peeing." He grins wryly. "You know, the usual."

You nod numbly. "The usual." The words quietly escape your lips without you being consciously aware you spoke them.

He sighs and turns to face he window again and he talks without making eye contact. "Speaking of which, I really should be leaving right now. My shift starts soon."

You're pulled out of your temporary reverie and again brought back down to earth. "Of course," you say immediately. "Go. Just – go."

Paul nods and positions his feet on the window seal to jump down.

"Please be careful," you call out softly.

The rippling muscles of his back are the last thing you see before he jumps. You hear a muffled 'thump' after a few seconds as he lands on the grass outside, and then, quietly, so quiet that you wonder if you didn't just make it up in your head, Paul's voice drifts back up into your room, assuring you gently – "Always am."

-x-

You manage to go through two days without giving in. And then, finally, you can't take it anymore. What are you afraid of? What can you possibly lose? There's no use pretending the problem isn't there.

And so, after two agonizing days, you put on a brave face, pick up your phone and call Jacob.

It's been so long since you had anything to do with technology, or even remembered that it existed – there's never really seemed to be much point for calling and texting when talking in person always seemed so much more appealing – but now you don't deny the fact that seeing Jacob now (with Natalie, no doubt, you think with unnerving scorn) would not do anything to help with your mental and emotional state.

After the fourth ring and still no answer, you start to breathe normally again.

(Another reason you finally subjected to technology was because you half-expected Jacob not to answer, and you were half-sure you didn't want to talk to him.)

You give up after the sixth ring, hanging up before the voicemail beep.

So was that just it, then? Were you still a coward for not gathering up the courage to leave a message?

Not two seconds after you hang up, the phone rings and vibrates furiously in your closed hand. Your breath hitches as you see the name on the screen: Jacob.

You let it ring for a few seconds and seriously consider not picking up at all. But what good would that do? _You _were the one who called first, after all, and you had things that needed to be said. So you touch the "answer" button.

Tentatively, carefully, "Jacob?"

On the other line, you hear him exhale a huge sigh of relief. "Bells," his voice rumbles, and you hate yourself for loving the way your familiar nickname sounds coming out of his mouth. "I thought I'd nearly missed you. Sorry, I just ran into the house as my dad tossed me my phone, but it'd stopped ringing. Anyway..." He clears his throat uncomfortably, aware, it seems, of his adorable rambling, and he laughs a bit as he continues, "You called?"

"Oh. Yes." You blink a few times, now suddenly hesitant as to if you should let him know that you know about Victoria after all. Hearing him now, he sounds so, well... _happy _to hear you. Why ruin this moment by bringing the both of you back down to earth, to cruel reality? But you know you have to sooner or later, and you've come to learn that sooner is always the smarter choice.

"So... I was informed of something the other day," you begin, and wait for his reaction. There's nothing but silence on the other end, so you take that as your cue to continue. Instead of dragging it out unnecessarily, though, you decide to get straight to the point. "Victoria," you say. "Here. In Forks. For a while now. Why didn't you tell me, Jacob?"

You almost expect him to defend himself or think of some lousy explanation, but to your immense surprise, he exhales loudly on the other line and says almost immediately, "Oh, Bella. I know I should have told you, I _know_, and I'm not proud of myself for hiding it from you. I don't know why I did. And... I'm really sorry."

"You – you're not gonna ask me how I found out, or anything?" you ask in disbelief, voice faltering. "And – and you're not gonna say that I _didn't need to know_, or something ridiculous like that – "

"Bella," Jacob's voice breaks through your mindless babbling. "No. I have no reason to defend myself because I know I'm in the wrong. I was thinking we could hide it from you for a little while longer, but I always felt guilty. I – I didn't want to adapt to the way that – that _Edward_ used to treat you. I know you're probably used to things being hidden from you, but I've caused you enough pain to think I could hide this, also. You're worth more than that to me." His soft, murmuring voice, so full of affection and love, makes you question your reasons for staying away from him. This, _this _right here – Jake and Bells – is all that really matters and all you really need. Why did you let it get so far away? How did you manage to grow so far apart?

And then you remember, like always – _Natalie_.

You glare and tremble angrily, even though Jacob can't see you. So you try and make it apparent through your voice. "I wish you wouldn't make it seem as though I still matter, Jacob," you spit, not bothering to keep the harshness out of your voice. "You give me all these impressions but I always end up wrong in the end – or on the floor, crying. I wish you'd stop with the affection and caring, 'cause you and I both know it's not helping anything."

Again you're surprised at Jacob's reply. It comes a few seconds after you've finished ranting, and his voice is calm and collected. "I know, Bella. I'm so sorry."

You try to fish for adequate words to say, but none come. You hadn't planned on him _agreeing _with you. That hurts in a way you hadn't anticipated, even though you know you did the right thing by bringing it to his attention. "I – okay," you finally mumble. "Okay."

"Right," he says, slightly breathless, and you can picture him shrugging as his next words are spoken. "Now that you know, let's get down to business. The pack has decided that you are probably safest when you're with us, but not for an extended period of time – don't want you in one place for too long, you know – and we think that you've been at Charlie's place long enough. I'm gonna drive over there and pick you up in a few hours, as soon as my shift is over, and you're gonna hang out at the reservation today."

"Don't I get any say in how I spend my day?" you grumble angrily under your breath, but you secretly can't wait to see him and you don't think you'd rather spend your day any other way.

"Sorry – I'm gonna come and pick you up soon, if that's alright with you?"

You allow yourself to smile, just a little bit. "Okay."

Jacob laughs once – the familiar, short bark that has been absent from yours and Jacob's conversations for way too long. "Okay. See you soon, Bells."

The receiver clicks on the other end, signaling the end of the call. But you don't hang up. You _can't _hang up.

_Did that conversation really just happen?_ you ask yourself. Jacob's left you in a daze, making it seem too normal – like there wasn't a good reason for not seeing each other, because there _definitely_ was. He might stop with the flattering and affections from now on, but that doesn't mean he can't still confuse you by making it seem like you guys are still friends. You're not sure if you're ready to think of him that way again, not so soon after so much fighting and confusion, anyway. You're not sure exactly what you and Jacob are. What do you call it when you're in love with your best friend and he's in love with you, but he's with someone else who's in love with him, and he's obligated to love her back, all the while still trying to assure you he still loves you? What the hell do you call _that_?

And why does your life have to be so goddamn confusing?

-x-

Jacob shows up about an hour later, making his presence known with obnoxious knocking on your front door.

You quickly finish your text message to Charlie (he's on duty at the police station – apparently there's been a sudden rise of unexplainable crimes in the south, which scared you enough this morning to almost convince him to stay home): _I'm going over to Jacob's for a few hours. I'll be back before dark, just letting you know. Be safe. Love you._

When you look up at Jacob, his face is sporting a much-too happy expression for the given situation. There's a blood-thirsty vampire with the sole purpose of ripping you apart limb from limb; what does he have to be so smiley about?

"What's that look for?" You try and ask it in a teasing tone, but really you're anxious for him to say one thing: _You. It's for you, Bella._

For a fraction of a second, Jacob turns toward you with arms trembling as though he's itching to reach out and hug you. (God knows you'd let him.) The moment quickly passes, though, and instead he just shrugs. "I dunno. Is it suddenly a crime to smile?" He exaggerates his point by smiling even wider. "Oh, and... I would've gotten your truck to you sooner, but Embry didn't seem to want to drive it here. The pack's been so busy lately, we haven't found the time... so it's just sitting at my house." He glances at you when your breath hitches at the mention of Embry.

Suddenly all these thoughts come rushing back to you, each one more embarrassing than the last. You have the impression Jacob already knows, but you can't help but ask anyway.

"So... I take it you know everything? Um... about Embry, I mean..."

"Yep," he replies instantly, popping the 'p'. As you risk an upwards glance at him, you can't tell if he's smirking, grimacing, or both.

_Oh, God_, you think dreadfully. _No no no_.

"And... about how... in my bedroom..."

He sighs. "When will you remember that we wolves read each other's minds, Bella? There are no such things as secrets."

"Oh... right. Yeah."

Okay, he's _definitely _smirking, and it's really pissing you off. "We really should be going, though. Sam wants me back on patrol in a few hours," he adds anxiously, jumping in the driver's seat and slamming the door behind him.

As you get into the passenger seat of the Rabbit, you try to make sense of his words. "But it doesn't take that long to get to La Push. You'll have plenty of time to spare."

Jacob hands freeze on the steering wheel. He then fiddles with the heater controls nervously and mutters quietly, "Exactly. I wanted to hang out with you for a little bit before I had to leave again."

Your breath catches in your throat. Jacob starts the ancient engine and pulls out of the driveway while you try and formulate a sensible response. "What about Natalie?"

"What about her?" He avoids your eyes.

You gape at him for a few moments, but if he notices, he doesn't say anything. "I should _think _that you'd feel obligated to hang out with her, not me. And don't you have some kind of freaky mental connection with her? Or did I just make all that shit up in my head?"

"Natalie's visiting family this weekend, so she's out of town, and I'm blocking her out of my head. I figured she'd be kind of preoccupied, so... so she won't notice." His hands nervously drum on the steering wheel. "Besides, I see no problem in hanging out with my best friend."

You can't think of anything to say to that, so the rest of the drive is spent in contemplative silence.

-x-

Hanging out with Jacob isn't nearly as painful as you imagined it might be. Sure, there are a few _off_ moments in which he accidentally mentions something from the past that leaves you both in a painful silence, but the conversation usually picks right back up without flaw – Jacob has always had a thing with words – leaving you wondering if there had been an _off _moment in the first place.

Walking down to the beach is nothing if not painfully nostalgic, though. It's the first time in a long time, and although you would like to believe that you just happened to go on a long vacation and this was now your reunion party, you know you can't get carried away. Even your imagination won't allow you to make _that _scenario up in your head.

The passing of time has left behind all those magical moments, and you don't know what to do to get them back.

You remember sharing similar walks with Jacob, seemingly a million years ago, where hands could be held without promises of anything else developing, where words could be spoken without intense forethought on the meaning behind them all. Where affections could be spoken on a log by the shore, and bodies could entwine in warmth and comfort.

That log is the one you and Jacob approach now, and sadness and longing seems to quiver in the air that separates you. A few seconds are spent staring at the empty piece of wood, but neither of you dare make the move of sitting upon it like you once did. It seems like a highly dangerous concept.

Jacob finally breaks the humid silence with a loud sigh. Thunder clouds are visibly rolling on the horizon, and he looks up at the sky as though judging the time based on the sunlight – or lack thereof.

"Let's head back," he murmurs, and you agree wordlessly as a fresh wave of the freezing cold ocean breeze blows over the exposed skin on your neck and face. You bury your hands deeper in your coat pockets, and stare at your feet as they _crunch, crunch, crunch_ over the beach's rocks, accompanied by Jacob's more quiet footsteps that are way too far away from yours for comfort.

A few minutes pass wordlessly, and then Jacob makes a snorting sound, full of dry humor, that causes you to look up.

"You still up for cliff diving one of these days?" he asks, snorting again.

You see immediately what instigated his sudden inquiry; you stop and look out at the high cliff becoming ever-closer in the distance, and admire the way the waves roar against the craggy edge, and the dangerous drop from the very top. You remember, long ago, when you witnessed a dozen half-naked Quileute boys throwing themselves over the edge into the angry waters, and the way you freaked out about it.

_My, how times have changed._

You get pulled back to the present and search for a way to answer Jacob's question. You're not sure if he's entirely serious, but you answer honestly anyway.

"Still sounds as thrilling as the first time you told me about it."

"Are you kidding? You were scared shitless."

You shrug. "I was, but then it started sounding really appealing for some odd reason. Kind of like the adrenaline rush I've been missing, you know?" You shrug again, suddenly confident with everything you're saying. "I said I wanted to a few months ago, and I still do. Nothing's changed."

Jacob laughs loudly, and you are both made aware how false that last part is; every-fucking-thing's changed. "I'm gonna hold you to that. I could use a few adrenaline rushes that don't threaten my life on a daily basis." He chuckles at the horrified expression on your face, but you're not in the mood for jokes anymore.

"I need to know how the situation with Victoria is."

"Stable," Jacob answers immediately, speaking to the ground.

"Which means...?"

He shrugs, still avoiding eye contact. "She hasn't made herself more conspicuous than the first time we caught her scent. She's definitely still there, though. We expect her to move closer any day now" – you inhale sharply" – but there's nothing to get immediately freaked out about." He smiles toothily. "We'll get her, Bells. You can trust us."

"You know damn well it's not me I'm worried about."

His eyes roll dramatically. "For God's sake, Bella. Have some faith in us for once, will you?"

By now you've made it back to Jacob's house, and for the second time he looks up at the sky and sighs. "I think I should drive you home now." He looks uncertainly in your direction, letting a few seconds pass before his next words are spoken. "I enjoyed myself. Did you?"

You don't even have to think about it, but you allow yourself to slowly smile before answering. "Yes, thank you," you murmur. _Yes, I did. More than you could ever know._

You hadn't even done much in the past few hours spent in Jacob's presence, because that was all you needed – to simply exist in each other's company, enjoying the way that quiet moments were steadily becoming less and less awkward, and maybe, just _maybe_, you could let yourself believe that you could live through this. You could let happen what may, and maybe become a better person because of it.

You could let Jacob go.

A heart-wrenching sound breaks through the calmness of the evening, causing you and Jacob to both start in alarm, and, in your case, glance around wildly.

Because they were wolf howls.

You can almost see the sounds tearing through the night, echoing all around you with the promise of something dreadful yet to come (or maybe already came, but you won't let yourself linger on that). A dozen voices seem to surround you from every angle, dripping with something you won't let yourself believe: a warning. Some kind of sign. The desperation and aggressiveness in the howls are clear, you can sense it.

And Jacob can sense it.

His body is rigged with sudden stress and terror, knowing full well that this is not a good sign; something's happened, something very bad. Time seems to stand still, and before you know it you're yelling in panic, "Jake! Oh, God, Jake, what's happening?"

He flinches and his eyes focus on you as though he just now remembers that you're there. You can almost see the gears begin to turn in his head as he adjusts to action-mode.

"Bella," he cries, voice breaking. "I really hate to do this, but the pack needs me. You – you have to drive yourself home. Thank God we never found the time to get your truck back to you sooner." The last sentence is a kind of afterthought, spoken roughly under his breath as he seems to listen intently to the upset howling that still rings through the trees.

"I understand," you say immediately. "I can drive myself. But – Jacob, do you have any clue what's happening? Should I be worried?" You snort and answer yourself not a second later. "Fuck that, of _course_ should be worried. Ugh, Jake, please be careful with whatever it is that happens – "

Jacob suddenly tugs roughly on your arm, a new kind of fire blazing in his eyes. "I really need to go and I don't want you here alone. Drive home as fast and as safe as possible. You'll be fine. You've got to be fine. Nothing bad happened. I would have known, I would have _known_..."

He scans the trees on all sides as he escorts you quickly to your truck, slamming the door behind you. You quickly roll down the window just as Jacob strips in plain view, ready to explode into his wolf form. His body is quivering already, but you can't help but yell, "Jake, wait!"

Again he looks back at you, acknowledging your presence with an alarmed quirk of his eyebrows. You effectively ignore his nakedness as he runs to your window, and to your surprise, he grasps your head in his strong hands, staring you straight in the eyes.

"Everything's gonna be fine, Bella, I was just caught off guard, that's all." Try as you might to believe his words, his trembling hands betray him, and you see for the first time how torn he is to tell you this: "Go home. _Now_." And with that, he presses his lips to your forehead firmly.

You suddenly have the overwhelming urge to cry, you're so terrified. You close your eyes tightly and cling to the feeling of Jacob's fiery lips on your skin, when suddenly, they're not there anymore. And all the warmth that can only belong to your favorite werewolf is now gone, replaced with the now-silent, chilly air, and you open your eyes in a flash, a broken cry escaping your lips.

And the only thing you see is the trees on the other side of the clearing quiver slightly, as a russet-brown tail is quickly swallowed up by the darkening throng of the forest.

-x-

The drive home is frightening, just as you knew it would be.

You cannot force your hands to stop shaking or your eyes to stop filling with tears. What if something happens to Jacob, or to any of the pack? You'll never be able to forgive yourself. On more than one occasion, you swear you see movement in the trees on either side of you, but when you risk a glance, you can see nothing but the dark stripes the trees paint against the ever-growing darkness of the night.

When you arrive home, Charlie's police car is still absent from the driveway. You feel another stab of panic as you wonder if what the wolves are facing now has anything to do with what Charlie might be facing – and suddenly your legs are much too weak to carry your weight so you hurry through the front door, slam it behind you, and drop on the couch in the living room before you collapse.

You take a few steadying breaths and send a million prayers up to God, or whoever's in charge of all this stuff, that Jacob and your father will be okay, or at the very least live through the night. To ask for such a thing only brings a ghostly chill to your bones, but you know it might seem selfish to ask for much more than that. So you sit in silence and pray for several long minutes, then jump up to lock the front door in another sudden burst of random panic.

You bite your tongue in your mouth repeatedly – a bad habit – and settle back down on the couch, this time loosening up enough to kick off your shoes and curl onto your side, resolving to spend the night there if it meant being able to see with your own eyes your father walking through the door unharmed.

Then you feel a sudden shift in the air around you. A creak of a floorboard, the dusting of shoes across the carpet. And every bone in your body locks, every molecule of saliva in your mouth is sucked dry. The air seems to delve into negative degrees Fahrenheit, but you've stopped shivering; your body won't allow you to move out of sheer terror.

And then you hear his voice.

"Bella," he sighs, magical and as clear as crystal, just like the first time you ever heard him speak your name, more than a year ago. Your bones unlock just in time for you to whip around and see with your own eyes his full lips forming his next words. "I was beginning to think you wouldn't return."

Your eyes rake over his pale, marble, and impossibly beautiful face, underneath a crown of messy bronze hair, not even daring to believe what's right in front of your eyes. Because you can't believe it. No. No, this isn't happening. No, this isn't real.

_But please let this be real_, a part of you screams, from the back of your mind.

You finally manage to find your voice again, semi-aware of how it cracks – because of the lump growing in the back of your throat or the fearful anticipation of waking up and this all being a dream, you can't decide.

"Edward," you whisper.


	13. Negotiations

**A/N:**Sorry for the wait. Alas, here is chapter 13!

The second part of this chapter is from Jacob's POV. At the beginning of the story I stated that the whole thing would be told from Bella's POV, but then I realized I had to make some exceptions in order to get important scenes across to my readers. :)

This chapter is filled with so much more action than I had originally anticipated, and the plot is becoming more complicated as well which might lead to longer chapters, and more of them, so I hope you can wrap your head around that. (Eek, you actually have to use a bit of brainpower – something I am personally deathly afraid of when it comes to reading fics.) The angst is just as heavy, and it might interest you to know that I do not have the end of this story 100% set in stone, so read ahead at your own risk. Heartbreak may or may not occur. I guess it depends on how evil I'm feeling by the end of it.

Anyway – read, enjoy, and review!

**Chapter 13.  
**  
"Edward," you repeat, voice slightly stronger than before, but no less disbelieving.

He stands in front of you, _Edward_ stands in front of you, just as real and as frozen as you remembered him to be. (Surprisingly, your memory wasn't botched in that department.) More so frozen now, it seems, as though he's trying not to frighten you with any sudden movements. After a few seconds though, you are honestly wondering if this is not just all your imagination, and there just so happened to be an Edward statue carved in the middle of your living room.

"It can't be," you whisper, voice resolute but sure. "You – Edward left me. He isn't coming back. He _told_ me he isn't coming back."

You can see something like sadness flash in Edward's golden eyes, and his voice is small when he speaks again. "I'm here, Bella. I could never leave you."

"Except for... you _did_."

"I could never stay away forever, though. My sad existence is not complete without – "

You surprise yourself by interrupting him. Your voice is stronger than you would have thought possible. A snide smirk makes its way across your face. "Alright. Now I'm almost one-hundred-percent positive you are some sort of – some sort of freaky mirage that I've given a voice to. You aren't back. You _can't_ be back. You said you wouldn't be."

In an amazingly quick, silent flash, he is right next to you, not two inches away from touching you. You can practically feel the coldness emanating from his skin. Your eyes slowly drag from his chest to his face, and the dark topaz of his eyes quite literally seems to stare through your soul, locking you in place just because of the sheer realness of it all. It's terrifying.

Edward reaches out and grasps your wrists with his hands. You flinch at the coldness, gasping as his icy skin rubs against yours. The simple gesture does nothing to calm you down, and before you know it you're hyperventilating despite yourself, almost desperately trying to claw your hands out of his, and trying not to face the truth of it all –

Edward's back. He's really, truly and completely, back. And he's standing in your living room.

He lets go of your arms quickly after you come to this realization, pain evident on his face. You back up a foot, and stare at his chest as his next words are spoken. (It's too painful to look into his eyes.)

"My love – I know I can't expect you to welcome me back with open arms. I did the hardest thing I have done in my entire existence, and that was leaving you. It was as though my soul had been ripped out – so I can only imagine how painful it must have been for you. I – I could never make the same mistake ever again. Not for as long as I walk the earth – "

Again, you interrupt him. "Why are you doing this to me?" you whisper, and your voice cracks as you try to breathe. "Has the world not realized that I am not so durable? I can only handle so much pain before I'm pushed over the limit. Why now? Why again? Why, Edward? _Why_?"

You risk looking into his eyes again, but the answers to your questions are hidden deep within his liquid stare. He doesn't speak for a few moments. You swear you could cut through the tension in the room with a knife.

"I had to check up on you," he begins carefully. "I couldn't last longer than six months not seeing you with my own eyes." Six months? It had only been _six months_? "Turns out, you weren't doing as well as I'd hoped." He smiles his notorious crooked smile – the one that until recently made your heart flutter, your pulse quicken, your cheeks go crimson red – but now it only breaks your heart in two. Its magical effect is dulled by the pain of his return, and his crooked smile that used to sweep you off your feet now only leaves you feeling like a pile of broken glass on the ground.

"What are you talking about, Edward? My heart has been healing for the past six months. For the first time since you left, I've finally managed to go several days without your name entering my thoughts. I've been doing _much_ better, Edward, and you know it. So why are you here? What is your angle? What are you playing at?"

Edward is as silent as ever. Even when you pace your way back to the couch and drop yourself on it, suddenly too physically – and emotionally – tired to stand, he doesn't make a single noise acknowledging your movement. It's unnerving, and (if you're being honest with yourself) extremely creepy. You aren't used to the silence Edward's presence brings. It is so different than moments you share with Jacob, where there is always the sound of breathing, or eating, or laughing – the exact things that you can't ever remember sharing with Edward. But thinking of Jacob suddenly brings new worries to your mind.

"Jacob – what will he do?" you think out loud, and from the corner of your eye you see Edward tense up even more at the mention of Jacob's name. Then something hits you like a blow to the gut. "The rest of the Cullens – are they here, too? Is that what the – they are upset over right now? That you are all back?"

"You seem to have made yourself very comfortable with those animals," Edward hisses, his back to you as he speaks, not answering your questions. You suppose you shouldn't be surprised that Edward knows all about the werewolves.

"Yes, I have." You think for a few moments when he does nothing but stand there and shake in fury. "Who else was I going to make myself comfortable with, after you left me almost _literally_ in the dirt? Who else would take me in as lovingly and selflessly as they have done?" On a whim you add, "You certainly didn't."

Edward finally turns around and faces you, despair clear in his voice as he whispers with hurried conviction, "Bella, whenever you are with them, you are in danger. Do you realize that?"

"And who I hang out with is totally none of your business. It stopped being your business when you left me. In fact, it never _should_ have been your business, not even from the start."

His body is shaking, and the anger is so clearly evident in his eyes that for one wild moment you are actually afraid of him. That catches you off guard and leaves you feeling confused and hurt, even though nothing happened in reality. Just the fact that Edward, of all people, can make you feel frightened – it's enough to rethink just about everything you once thought about him before.

A few moments pass in scared silence, and he seems to regain his composure. "But I could never let anything happen to you. You are in danger now more than ever, Bella. You are constantly being hunted." So Edward knew about Victoria. Of course. "Can you not see how accepting me again will protect you? I'm almost literally _begging_ you to take me back." At these words, he falls on his knees in front of you.

Everything is happening so fast, and it's alarming and overwhelming in all the wrong ways. This is _not_ how you expected to react to Edward literally delivering himself to you. This is _not_ the scene you imagined when, so many times, you played over and over again in your head exactly what would happen when Edward returned (because you were _so sure_ he would – well, you'd been right after all). You imagined how you would throw yourself onto him immediately, how he would kiss you until you couldn't breathe, how any remaining doubts about his love for you would evaporate instantly as you saw the love clear in his eyes. And, just like that, you'd be together forever – again.

This is the scene you imagined in your head so many times, to the point of it resembling a broken record, one that you eventually let go of as time went on and the prospect of _him_ returning seemed less and less likely. Before you knew it, the mere idea of it was simply left behind and forgotten, too painful to imagine anymore.

And yet, here Edward is, almost in the exact position you imagined him to be in, and the feelings rushing through your body could not be any more _opposite_ to the ones you thought you'd be experiencing.

Instead of undeniable rushes of love, you feel heartbreaking tremors of anguish as you stare into his golden depths. Memories of whispers of love, of _I promise not to hurt you_, of _you are my life now_ comes crashing down and begins suffocating you until you can't stand to look at him for a second more. And you need out. You need out _now_. You're tired of being tethered to a person who will do nothing but break you down and constantly make you feel inferior. You try to remember how it could have possibly felt _good_ to be with Edward, but those memories are drowned instantly by something much stronger – how good you feel when you're with _Jacob_.

The liquid warmth of tears falling down your cheeks doesn't surprise as you look down at your hands folded in your lap, and away from Edward's desperate and imploring gaze. But you don't cry out of sadness, not now – no, you cry now because it's something more like _fury_.

"I can't believe how stupid I was," you whisper to yourself more than to him. "I got myself in way too deep. And it was hard, _God_, it was hard, but I was _just_ beginning to dig myself back out, just beginning to _breathe_ again, Edward. And now you have to show up and make me completely backtrack all my progress. You think you have the right to come along and tell me how I should take you back after you've already done such a sufficient job of breaking my heart into a thousand pieces? Do you see _nothing_ wrong with that picture?"

You grow angrier with each word you speak. Through the entirety of your rant, Edward doesn't interrupt you, merely stares at you like he can't believe a word you're saying. You almost can't believe it either – you didn't think you had the strength to admit it out loud. You risk glancing up at him, courage growing inside of you. He doesn't speak for a long time, just... _stares_. You stare back with furrowed brows.

"A good chunk of my junior year was spent loving you. A good chunk of my junior year was _wasted_," you continue bitterly. Nothing's stopping you now. "I know I can never be exactly _normal_ again – but I've really been trying, Edward. Isn't that what you want?"

Edward breaks out of his strange trance and answers brokenly, "Yes."

You nod slowly, knowing there is nothing he can say to deny the truth behind your words. You realize you should probably say something comforting, something light to get him to stop _staring_ at you like that, like his whole world just exploded right before his eyes, but you're not sure what else to say. You want to say you don't regret a second you spent with him, but you're not sure if you'd be lying if you said that. Then you finally settle on something bittersweet.

"You have the rest of forever to find someone more... more _deserving_ than me, Edward." He grimaces and closes his eyes, and you wonder if he were physically able to, maybe tears would be falling down _his_ cheeks right now, too. "I always wondered why you were suddenly so positive that I was perfect for someone like you. It never made sense to me. I should have spent more time wondering about that." He opens his mouth as though to say something, but you continue on hurriedly. "No, _listen_ to me. You've said and thought it a million times before – _you're not right for me_. We're not right for each other. We never will be. I didn't think it would take so long for me to believe it, but... I do now."

His mouth is still parted but his eyes are still closed. Finally he whispers, "I understand." He seems to be struggling with something or other, judging by the way his mouth is soundlessly trying to form a word. He finally chokes it out, wincing as though he doesn't want to say it. "But please do me a favor, Bella. _Please_. Let me protect you. You need the protection now more than ever. You won't even have to see me; just... let me assure myself that you'll be alright."

"I can assure you of that right now," you say bracingly. "I am perfectly protected by the pack. You don't need to worry yourself with me anymore, Edward. _Please_ don't worry about me anymore."

Edward suddenly stands up with super human speed and is at your front door in half a second, his back to you with his fists clenched. "I never should have come back, Bella. I'm so sorry." You stand up gingerly from the couch and fold your arms, unsure of anything else to say, vaguely wondering what the expression on his face is because it's completely indiscernible from his tone of voice. "I won't bother you anymore. I promise." And then, as though an almost-hopeful afterthought, "Not unless you want me to, that is."

Your heart breaks in two and you say, "I would let you know."

Edward clenches and unclenches his fists and hangs his head low. "I know. Goodbye, Bella." He opens the door in one swift motion and disappears behind it as it closes. A flash of movement can be seen out of the window, and then everything is still again.

Your bones are tired once more, and you collapse on the floor and breathe in and out heavily as one thought cannot rid itself from your mind: _What the hell just happened? What's going to happen next?_

-x-

The voices in your head are screaming at you as you are racing through the forest to get to where they are.

_Jacob? Jacob, we're not sure what this means –_

_Calm down, Sam's blowing this up to be more extreme than it really is –_

_Blowing it up? I am not, this could potentially be very serious – we don't know what their intentions are.  
_  
Trees fly past you at an alarmingly fast rate and you can see inside the heads of the pack as a whole – they're all gathered in a clearing somewhere not too far from where you are. You run just a little bit faster, heart sinking as you replay Sam's words in your mind: _we don't know what their intentions are_.

_Who? What's going on?_ you think back to them in agitation as you scan the thoughts of each of the wolves in turn; flashes of white skin are remembered with spite, as well as a scent so sickly sweet it makes your skin crawl –

_Vampires_.

You stumble a bit as the scent reaches your nostrils. Your stomach lurches, your muscles tense up and you have half the mind to hightail it all the way to Bella's house, because what the hell did you just let happen? You shouldn't have let Bella drive home alone, _God_ that was a stupid idea, and pictures of her bloody body being ripped apart by impeccably white teeth flash through your mind, followed closely by a mane of fire-red hair and grossly pale skin.

_No! Jacob, listen to me. Bella will be fine. More than fine, actually_, Sam growls at you. _Just get over here_.

_Sam, Bella could very well be dead_ – You can't coherently finish a thought; the panic is ripping you from the inside out. Your fast pace slows to a jog and your head turns around in the direction from whence you came, painfully conflicted with ignoring the orders of the alpha.

_I repeat, Bella is fine_, he growls. _Get over here now_.

The tone of his voice is enough to shock you out of your panic mode and with one last look behind you, reluctantly turn and run to meet the pack.

When you reach the clearing, you are met with half a dozen grim expressions, Sam's standing out prominently as he trots over to you, much too calmly for your liking.

_Why the fuck are we sitting here doing nothing? Why aren't we out there kicking bloodsucker ass?_ you hiss, looking around at the ring of wolves who still sit as quiet and forlorn as ever.

_It's not the vampires you think_, Quil's voice pipes up. _It's –_

Then, with one mutual growl that ripples through the minds of the wolves until it can only be distinguished as one: _The Cullens_.

Silence follows the outlandish statement. Your blood goes cold in your veins as you try to digest what was just said.

_They overstepped the reservation boundaries, didn't they? _you snarl with the sudden realization. _They've broken the treaty, haven't they?_

Sam's giant head nods in affirmation. _It certainly looks like it. Why, though?_ he grumbles, obviously as confused as the rest of them. _And why did they leave our land just as quickly?_

_They'll be back, though. From wherever they are. Probably at – her – house right now_, Embry growls, face scrunching up in fury as Bella's face crosses his mind.

_Bella_.

_Oh, no_, you think in growing horror as you slowly realize what's happening. _Edward's trying to convince her to – to be with him or something. He's come back to get her back_.

_Jake, maybe he only came back because of Victoria_, Jared suggests. _I'm sure he doesn't want her murdered any more than we do. That'd be a pretty heavy burden to carry_.

_Okay, then, he has his reasons_, Sam interrupts, _none of which really matter right now, especially since you have an imprint, Jacob. Your only loyalties remain with the pack and our laws._ His thought comes across as a vicious growl, and your ears lay flat on your head while you bare your teeth in indignation and maybe even guilt. You hadn't wanted your worry for Bella to be so clear. Sam somehow always got peeved whenever there was a moment he felt like you weren't caring about Natalie enough.

_Jared, Quil and I will run a patrol around the area, _Sam continues._ Paul, Embry, and you, Jacob, will stay here in case something happens. Their scent is strongest in this clearing, so they might come back._

And with that, Sam jumps through an opening in the trees with Jared and Quil following closely behind, leaving a tense silence in his wake. The three wolves' thoughts linger in your head even as they disappear out of sight, but you effectively block them out for the time being and pace the clearing in agitation.

_Ugh, I hate not being allowed to do anything fun_, Paul grumbles.

_You heard Sam; this is important_, you say, batting a paw at Paul's head and causing him to shrink back. _Now stop complaining_.

_Always a kiss-ass_, Embry says lightly, laying flat on his side and bringing his paws over his head like he has a minor headache.

You ignore him and continue trotting around the clearing, the moon shining high overhead. You know Embry's mad at you, which you find incredibly unfair since you didn't actually do anything wrong. It was _his_ own fault to go ahead and fall in love with Bella, and _his_ own fault to overstay his welcome and cozy up to Bella like she was _his_.

_Fuck off, Jacob_, Embry spits. You ignore him again and continue to anxiously circle the clearing.

Eventually the scent of sickly-sweetness that can only belong to a vampire makes you feel nauseous, so you sit down when your stomach threatens to empty through your mouth, and settle for thinking about things, anticipating Sam's patrol to not return for a while.

Your stomach lurches as you think of all the events that have unfolded just in the past few hours. What could possibly get worse? First, fucking _Edward_ has to return, complicating all progress you might have been making with trying to become Bella's friend, at the very least. And who knew what Bella would do? You wouldn't past her to break your heart yet _again_, and accept his invitation back into his heart. In fact, it's probably the _exact_ thing she would do, seeing as she didn't have anyone else who would love her the way Edward so freely would.

But God, you fucking _hate_ him. Now more so than ever, because he has the _nerve_ to leave Bella broken and bruised, and then arrive a few months later like all is good in the world. But Bella is so goddamn naïve – she would take him back, no questions asked. Because Bella is just that way.

And yet still you love her. Why do you still love her? You have _every_ right to hate her. And yet you can't bring yourself to hate her. Not even after you fucking _imprint on another girl_ – because, if anything, your love for her has only grown stronger because it's being tested so much. These are all, of course, things you would never admit to her, and oftentimes you try not to admit to yourself; it's too painful to think that she would love you, and you would love her, if only the trivial problem of _vampires _and_ werewolves_ didn't stand in the way of it all.

A rustle in some trees far away shakes you out of your reverie. You stand on your guard and bristle as you try and detect what it is that would make such a sound. Quil's a bit clumsy, but Jared and Sam would never make such a loud noise.

And then that _smell_ hits your nose again, harder and stronger this time, making your eyes water at the sheer disgustingness of it. You get into a decent fighting position as Paul and Embry do the same, closing in on the source of the sound and smell and preparing yourselves for anything.

But you would never be prepared enough for what stumbles out of the underbrush – _Edward_. Edward fucking Cullen, shaking and looking like he was going insane in his own body, trips out the bushes and falls to his knees, head lowered as his entire body is wracked with what seem to be tearless sobs.

You've _never_ seen Edward this way, and this is probably what causes you to lower your guard – but only just.

Sam's patrol quickly emerges from the forest not two seconds later, and they quickly surround the bloodsucker on one side while you, Paul, and Embry quickly do the same on the other side, growling menacingly in hatred and disgust.

But Edward doesn't make a move to defend his self. Still, his body is shaking with silent sobs and his hands run through his hair, as though he's doing all he can not to tear his own head off.

_What are you doing here, leech?_ Paul roars, but Sam quiets him with a look.

_You were the only one of your kind to cross into the boundaries of La Push, judging by the scent surrounding the area, so you will be the only one punished accordingly unless you can give us a reason not to. State your purpose and why you decided to cross over into Quileute territory_, Sam growls in a dignified manner. _As I'm sure you are well aware, you have broken the treaty_ _in half_.

Edward takes a few seconds before he slowly looks up, his eyes meeting each one of the wolves' eyes in turn. You see something there you can almost sympathize with – heartbreak and torment from something _you can't help_.

He whispers brokenly, the look in his eyes bewildered and insane, "She didn't take me back. She doesn't want me. I want to keep her safe, but she doesn't want me." Now he's trembling so intensely you have the impression that his marble skin might crumble into a thousand pieces.

And suddenly, he's screaming. "_Kill me! _Nothing matters anymore. Please, just– just _please_ kill me!" And he goes back to weeping into his hands. You've never been more disgusted by him. He comes here and begs for death because of something he brought on himself? It would never make sense to you.

Each of the wolves begins to grow restless, and, in spite of yourself, you glance at Sam as though looking for permission.

Sam looks just as disgusted, yet surprised. _You come here asking for death? _he scoffs, looking almost personally insulted. _What kind of creature are you, to want to give up your own life out of grief? We will _not_ kill you_, he answers, a note of finality ringing at the end of his sentence that leaves you feeling frustrated.

_He's giving himself up to us, Sam – why would you pass up this opportunity?_ you hiss.

_Because it wouldn't help anything_, Sam answers simply. _It would bring the rest of the Cullens on us, and I will not become a savage just because it is easy. He didn't technically do anything to harm us – he just needs to get the hell off our land before we take his request to heart_.

"I would let you," Edward cries.

It appears Sam has reached an ultimatum. _Get off our land this instant_, he threatens, rising above the pale and pathetic Edward so that even _you_ are slightly afraid, _or we will not bother ourselves when the red-haired leech comes to kill Bella. We will either let it happen or perhaps do it ourselves_.

_Sam!_ –

_Now_, Sam finishes, lashing a paw with claws protracted at Edward so that he flies backward through the air and into a tree, breaking off one of the upper branches and causing crows to fly off into the night with loud _caws_. He falls back down again onto the ground, not bothering with the litheness that you're sure he could easily pull off, landing with a hard _thud_, like that of a boulder.

Edward stands up slowly, and the wolves around you tense when it appears as though he might fight back. His fists unclench and the growling is so fierce and muddled in the humid air that you feel like you're suffocating under all the tension. Finally, though, Edward lowers his head in defeat, his arms going limp by his sides.

"Okay," he murmurs under his breath. "I shouldn't have expected such a kindness from my mortal enemy – but I must admire you for sticking to your ethics."

_Your business is done here, leech_, Sam growls.

"I will find some other way to satisfy my needs," Edward says as a vague and thoughtful look crosses his face. You don't like that look – it makes you wonder if there's something else hidden behind his words.

He then whips around and races back in the direction from whence he came, leaving the sickly-sweet smell behind him and causing a very un-vampire-like ruckus through the trees. Steadily the sound becomes quieter and quieter and you hold your breath until you can't hear anything at all.

Crickets pick up their chirping after a few silent moments, and the wind whispers through the trees as the night settles back into normalcy – or, as normal as it could get with six werewolves standing around each other wondering together _what in the fuck just happened_.

_Somehow I doubt that's the last we'll see of that bloodsucker_, Quil thinks with agitation, breaking through the silence of their minds.

No one – not even you, as desperately you hope it won't be true – speaks out against him.


	14. Unrequited

**A/N: **Writer's block sucks.

In this chapter, I believe that Bella and Charlie's relationship needs to be addressed for what it is – which is not very present at all. It seemed vital to give them some kind of progression in this story, for more reasons than one: First of all, I find a parent's relationship with their children to be one of the most important human relationships. Secondly, the fact that Meyer has always ignored this has unnerved me immensely. Charlie tends to be portrayed as some helpless, boring extra that we only hear about from time to time, and because of this he is often viewed as an unfit, lazy parent. I believe he could reach great potential with his daughter if only Meyer had thought to write her books with half a brain in her head.

For those of you who are interested – my soundtrack throughout the duration of writing this chapter was the wonderful band Young The Giant; more specifically the song "Islands," and I urge you to listen to it on repeat as you read this chapter. It's so hauntingly beautiful and gave me so many feelings that I cannot begin to capture in words. Also, reviews are nice.

And with that, please enjoy chapter 14!

**Chapter 14.**

You are awoken the next morning by the sound of Charlie's return. The loudness of it is enough to put you at ease – anything that would make a quieter sound than the sounds Charlie makes would definitely not be welcome in your house. It's still almost completely dark out – through the opaque curtains you can just barely distinguish the light from the dark. You look around groggily, not remembering falling asleep on the couch last night, and shiver from the lack of blankets. You're surprised to find that you even fell asleep at all, if the events of last night are any sort of indication. But you try not to think about that right now.

"Hey, Bells," Charlie grunts, and the exhaustion is clear in his tone as he closes the door loudly, locks it behind him, and toes his shoes off. You slowly sit up to clear a spot on the couch for him, which he sinks into gratefully and almost immediately puts his head back and closes his eyes. "Why aren't you asleep in your room?"

"I – I was waiting for you," you reply honestly, and rest your head against his shoulder, shivering from how cold his jacket still is from the chilly morning air. "I hate it when you stay out late – it gets me worried. Did anything... _bad_ happen?"

Charlie's face scrunches up a bit before he answers, eyes still closed. "Well – the department didn't exactly make any progress... but we found a few less-than-welcome signs of mysterious animal killings."

"Animal – killings?" you choke out, not daring to believe it. "Where? When?"

At the tone of your voice, Charlie opens his eyes and glances at you with concern. "Whoa, there, Bells. Nothing for you to worry about. We found the bodies a few miles from here, and from there they just spread out all over the forested part of Forks. We're starting to think this might be a seasonal thing – remember last year? And at about this same time, too. We're just seeing the same things again. We've got investigators out there day and night, trying to decide if this is something to do with a change in the weather... or... something or other..." He puts his head back against the couch and closes his eyes again with an enormous sigh. After a few moments of silence, his breathing evens out and you're almost positive he's asleep.

You can't help but jump a little when he starts talking again, breaking the silence.

"I want you to be safe, so you'll be staying inside at all times unless you're hanging out with Jake... We didn't find anything remotely close to the reservation, and the Quileute boys are good company to keep."

You nod slowly, even though Charlie can't see you. "Yeah... they are. I think they're probably gonna be too busy for me, though." The last part is spoken mostly to yourself and something scratches at your heart as you realize how true your words are. What with everything going on with Victoria – and possibly the Cullens – they probably won't spare enough time to make you feel welcome. It's all just going to be business from here on out. (You still can't help but stay hopeful that perhaps Jacob will see just how lonely you are – that maybe you could have a repeat of yesterday, where the only concern on either of your minds has nothing to do with vampires. But with Jacob that could never be possible, at least not anytime soon.)

Charlie slowly opens his eyes at the hopeless tone in your voice. He seems to think about it for a while before asking quietly and earnestly, "How are you doing, Bella?"

The question catches you off guard and you shy away from the concern in his voice, answering with a bit of a waver, "I'm fine. Why?"

"No, I mean... how are you _really_ doing? I know I'm not home enough nowadays to check up on you. But we haven't really had a good sit-down ever since... ever since your last _episode_." He makes a face to try and get you to understand, and you do. It was only a few weeks ago, but the memory of screaming in the middle of the night, awakening Charlie because of the vividness of your nightmares – it's enough to put a chill to your bones. You haven't had any recent _episodes_, mostly thanks to Embry and his company, but after he was gone you had enough sense to muffle any sounds you might have made in the midst of troubled sleep. And last night was too much of a blur to remember anything at all since then.

You look down at your hands and your cheeks are suddenly burning from Charlie's intense stare. Somehow it never fails to surprise you whenever Charlie takes an extra interested notice in you and your well-being. You suppose this can't be saying something healthy about your relationship with your father.

"I... I was fooled into thinking that what Jacob and I had was something more than friendship. And I really _do_ love him that way, but he can't feel the same way back. That kind of hurts, you know? Unrequited love... or something like that. It's so complicated; I don't even know what to think anymore, Dad." Your eyes start to burn involuntarily. "It hurts even more every time I see him. He – he has a girlfriend. It's just... really weird. I mean, I know we never _dated_ or anything like that, but... what we had was sort of more important than a romantic relationship. Or at least it seemed like it," you mumble as an afterthought, not bothering to stop the tears from flowing down your cheeks.

You're purposely trying to dumb down things enough so that Charlie might understand it and possibly relate to it. It would be much too difficult to go into the stupid _magic_ that's involved in it all. If anything, he could at least sympathize with dramatic teenage relationships.

"Unrequited love..." he repeats wistfully. "I definitely know what that feels like." You nod and look down at your hands. He reaches his hand out to wipe a tear from your cheek, startling you. "If being with him is so painful, then why do you still hang out with him?"

You know the answer immediately. "Because... sometimes I don't know whether being away from him is any less painful."

Charlie nods slowly, but you can tell he's confused.

"I'm in _love_ with him, Dad. I miss him all the time. Even when I'm with him, because I'm _not_. He's with his imp – his, uh, _girlfriend_. And I'm just standing there, and no one notices. It's like I'm screaming, but no one can hear." Your voice cracks and tears continue falling silently down your cheeks. "But the worst part is there's nothing anyone can do to make me feel better. Sometimes I feel like I might get better, but it's only a temporary fix – and then I go back to being miserable. That's all there is to it, basically."

You risk a glance at Charlie and are surprised to find him with his nose scrunched up, a dissatisfied look on his face. "Somehow I sense there's something else underneath it all, Bells. I haven't been here enough for you lately – and I'm so, so sorry." His voice cracks and you understand that he _really_ wants you to talk to him. "I know it will never be the same as talking to your mother – but I'm really trying to be what you need, Bella. I want this to work, but I need you to talk to me. _Please_."

You stare back into his eyes just as intensely, almost frightened by how much care and concern you see there. You're left speechless for a few moments, before you realize you should probably react somehow. You blink a few times and nod your head jerkily, wishing so badly – _so badly_ – that you actually could tell him absolutely _everything_. That you didn't have to worry about keeping almost your whole life a secret. That he could understand every heartbreak and the magnitude of how much stress is put on your daily life by simply _existing_. You wish you could tell it _all_ to him, and not face any consequences at all.

For more than a few seconds, you very seriously consider doing it.

"I – Dad – you –" you start uncertainly, wincing at the way his eyes raise, highly anticipating your next words. Even he can sense there might be something important behind them. Your mind races a hundred miles per hour but you can't will yourself to continue.

You can't do it. You just can't do it. Not for your sake – but for his. You can't endanger him that way, and it hurts to look back into his eyes – so trusting, so loving – when you can't tell him about your secret life, and the fact that you hang around mythical beasts on a daily basis. It hurts to know that _he trusts you so much_.

"I'm just so scared, Dad," you choke out with a sob, knowing exactly what Jacob felt like when he wished that he could tell you everything but couldn't unless you figured it out. But this time, you're sure you feel a hundred times worse than Jacob ever did. "I'm afraid I'm gonna lose everyone I love because of my selfishness. I've never felt more hopeless, more depressed. And now I think I seriously lost a huge opportunity by pushing someone away yet again. That's all I'm good for – making people miserable. I have no hope, no future. Who would want me? I'm good for _nothing_. I don't know how I've managed to keep people around for this long. I don't know why anyone in their right mind would come back. I don't know – everything's so uncertain and – Dad – _Dad_." You're openly sobbing now, shaking in Charlie's arms as he rubs your back with his fingers. "I've made so many mistakes – so many regrets – and I just wish I could be a little nine-year-old girl again. When there was no reason to hate me. And no reason to be afraid of anything. I feel so alone now. _I'm just so scared, Dad_."

Charlie doesn't interrupt once, just lets you cry your heart out into his shoulder, whispering soothing nothings into your hair and repeating over and over, "Honey, Bella, honey," and "Sh-sh-shhhh."

Several minutes pass where the only sounds made are Charlie's whispers and your wet sobs that steadily recede to shaky breathing. Finally, he speaks up.

"Bella – you've _got_ to know that you've got so much going for you. _So_ _much_," he says, voice firm and confident, but speaking slowly as though choosing his words right before they leave his mouth. "You will always and forever be my darling baby Bella. In my eyes, you are still the precious little girl I held in my arms for the very first time at nineteen years old. I didn't know it was possible to hold so much love inside of my body at once. I felt like I had no other reason to live except to be there for you. And I promised myself I would always be there for you, no matter what other stupid mistakes I made in the past, nothing would ever change – I would always love you. And I will. I do. I love you _so_ much, Bella, and I never want you to feel like you're alone. You always have me. And you always have your mother. Anyone else – Jacob, Edward, I don't care _who_ it is – they don't matter half as much. You understand that?"

You nod slowly into his chest, marveling at how calm you feel. You don't remember the last time you felt so calm and loved while simultaneously crying.

"No one has the right to make my baby girl feel this way," Charlie continues. "Not unless you give them permission to. Don't let them have power over you like that."

"It's – it's _really_ hard not to." You sniffle pathetically. "God, it really _sucks_ to be in love."

He nods and kisses your hair. "Believe me, I know. I know. Boys will come and go. But your family _never_ will – they come into your life – or, well, they're always there to begin with – and they _stay_ that way. Got that?"

You dry your eyes with the edge of your shirt and breathe in and out shakily. "Yeah. _Thank you_, Dad." He smiles, a tired, loving smile, and you find the strength to smile back. "Thank you for everything you said."

His smile grows bigger and brighter. "No problem. Just make sure you always remember what I said when you're feeling alone, or sad."

"I – I'll try. You know I can't promise that I'll be happier just like that, though."

"That's fine. I'm not expecting anything to happen overnight. I know it seems like it takes an eternity for a broken heart to heal. _But it will_. That's what matters. Take one day at a time. Hang in there till it's over."

Charlie leans in and presses a kiss to your temple, and you look down at your lap with a watery smile, not knowing what else to say. Thankfully, Charlie breaks the silence.

"Now, I don't know about you, but all these emotions are making me hungry. What do you say I whip up some pancakes?" He puts his hands on his knees and uses it as leverage to get off the couch, standing in front of you and holding his hand out to help you off the couch as well.

You laugh shakily and take his hand, still attempting to collect yourself. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Of course; you and I both know I am the notorious pancake master."

"Emphasis on _notorious_," you throw back with a hesitant smile.

Charlie's golden, warm laugh fills the walls of the house and the walls of your heart. "I really do love you, Bells."

"I really do love you, too."

And right now, in this moment, on this day, you are _okay_. And it is enough.

-x-

It's still a mystery to you as to why Jacob seems to be so insistent on talking to you. What does he have to gain? What do _you_ have to gain? You thought it was made very clear that every second spent with each other is another second times two that your heart feels like it's being ripped out of your chest.

Yet at the time, you can't seem to feel guilty about it. You feel the boiling glares Natalie shoots at you when you're not looking – and, more often than not, when you _are_ looking – you see the cold, unmasked hatred in her eyes when she's forced to speak with you, as though you're the most disgusting thing she's ever seen, like a bug she wants desperately to squish beneath her shoe.

You know it should worry you that someone can manage to show such immense hatred for you for reasons beyond your control and desire – but it doesn't worry you. With every spiteful word that leaves Natalie's mouth with the intention of making you feel less of worth, there's the tiniest inclination to want to make this all right, to prove everyone that you can be useful and kind and amazing – God, if only they'd give you the _chance_! – but other than that, you ignore Natalie like your life depends on it, or perhaps your sanity, because in some ways, it does.

Everyone seems to think that you exist for the sole purpose of making things complicated and ruining everyone's lives. (A word-for-word description granted to you by Natalie, the queen bitch herself.) No one says anything out loud that might imply they think the exact same way for fear of facing the wrath of Jacob (which Natalie always tends to narrowly miss no matter what with a disgusting smile and a kiss), but you know they silently agree with her.

Despite the pleasantries that are exchanged every second you spend with the wolf pack (at the request of Jacob – it was apparently much safer than your house in Forks), you can slowly feel them slipping away, one by one. You have the slightly irrational fear – or maybe not so irrational – that one day, they'll hate you just as much as Natalie does.

And yet, throughout it all, Natalie doesn't bother you, not even superficially – hell, if someone was even _half_ as shallow and narrow-minded as her, you'd rather not have anything to do with them. You don't want to lose some of the closest people you've ever had to true friends. Somehow, you feel like your life with them is not over yet. So you desperately claw to every string like a lifeline before it slips away beyond your reach.

Embry is of course your main concern. The way he looks away from you quickly every time you glance in his direction, the way his eyes flash with sadness and anger and betrayal in the rare occasion you _do_ catch his eye (and immediately regret doing so afterwards), and the way he basically refuses to acknowledge you at all whenever you are found in each other's presence (which he conveniently manages to have happen as little as possible); it's all the reason you really need to find yourself curled inside your bed at night, crying softly into the folds of blanket that surrounds you in an attempt to muffle the sounds from Charlie.

You and Charlie talk much more often, that much is true – but only to an extent. Whenever he is home, his mind is still back at the police station, constantly worrying about the animal killings that seem to be happening much more frequently, and his eyes always look faraway and tired. Oftentimes he will simply stare straight through you when you try to engage him in conversation, only managing to coax out small sentences or phrases such as "Uh huh," or "Oh, yeah, Bella," or "I'm sorry to hear that."

In some ways, it's worse than not talking to him at all. Sometimes you'll think wryly about how he chose a rather inconvenient time to promise that he'd always be there for you – your problems too often coincided with his steadily growing pile of problems at the police station. But you don't blame him. So you don't expect anything more from him than to sit still and pretend like he's listening to you, and acknowledge your presence every so often when you find yourselves home at the same time.

And you go to bed every night feeling just as weary, depressed, and frustrated as the day before.

"I love you, Dad," you'll whisper from the bottom of the stairs in an attempt to draw Charlie's attention away from the pile of papers in lap for even just a half a second.

"Huh?" He'll look up at you, with a startled, exhausted look in his eye. "Oh – g'night, Bells. Love you." Just as soon as the last word leaves his mouth, he's back to being engrossed in the official documents that you've come to despise over the past few days.

But you'll already be halfway up the staircase, and he won't even notice.

And the tears will be falling even before your head touches the pillow, for more reasons than you can even bother counting right now.

-x-

"God, Jake, I feel like you're taking me to daycare or something," you groan as the Rabbit pulls to a stop in front of an unfamiliar house. You look at it with disdain, suddenly hyperventilating at the thought of Jacob leaving you yet again. You should be used to it by now, but you're not.

"I guess you could call it that," Jacob says with a strange smile, pulling the car into park and opening his door.

In a second he's at the passenger side of the car, opening your door and holding out his hand for you to grab. You ignore it fiercely, using your own perfectly capable limbs to get out of the car and close the ancient door behind you, but Jacob is not fazed. His strange smile only grows wider, and his arm slinks around your waist without prelude. With a sad sigh, you decide to leave it be instead of starting a discussion that could only end with someone marching off in the opposite direction or crying or both.

"But Leah hates me," you insist, walking as slowly as possible.

"You don't know that. What have you done to make her hate you?"

You stare at him with wide eyes. "You can't be serious. I could ask the same exact thing to your girlfriend and basically everyone in the pack. It still wouldn't change anything."

Suddenly he looks nervous, stopping in his tracks and dragging you back to him. "I guess you're right. I didn't think before I said that."

"See? Even _you_ know she hates me. There doesn't need to be a reason."

"I'd rather not like to think that way. The wolf pack doesn't even hate you. Well, they might slightly dislike you – but that's beyond your control." You roll your eyes. He's said the same thing a million times in the past few days: _It's beyond your control. There's nothing you can do. Don't worry about it_. "And besides," he continues, "Leah isn't in the wolf pack – she's just a grumpy person in general –"

"Oh, that makes me feel _much_ better –"

"– and at times she can just be downright rude as hell –"

"– honestly, Jacob, I'm so fucking excited I can't even stand still –"

"– but I believe that being with one person who dislikes you can't possibly be worse than being surrounded by more than three at any given time." Jacob looks thoughtful for a few moments as you continue to knead the ground nervously with your toes. "Also, let's take into account that the animosity of a certain person is much stronger than strictly necessary and I doubt even Leah could beat it. And hey, who knows? You might be the first person to ever get on her good side. Take it as a challenge, or a game, or something." He laughs once with a failed attempt at humor. "It'll be called the 'Get-Leah-To-Like-You-Without-Losing-A-Limb-In-The-Process' game."

He looks down at you hopefully, an expression on his face sickeningly alike to that of a puppy. You endure a short internal battle, deciding on whether you want to punch him or kiss him more.

You stare at him carefully and sigh after a few moments, suddenly aware of how intimate this moment might look to anyone else right now – your heads are much too close for comfort.

You tear away from him reluctantly and continue walking up to the front door of the Clearwater's house – this time with purpose. "I guess I have no choice, do I?"

He catches up to you in less than a second and laughs. "That's the spirit."

You almost immediately regret it after your fist touches the door – its ominous echo is enough to make you nervous all over again. What if spending time with Leah is worse? What if she finds a million other reasons to hate you that even Natalie didn't think of? Oh, God.

"Is it still too late to run?" you whisper urgently to Jacob beside you, only half-joking.

Apparently it is, though – the door quickly swings open and standing in the doorway is Leah Clearwater, looking tired and irritable yet comfortable in a pair of old sweats and an oversized university t-shirt that you somehow doubt is one of her true belongings. Her hair is pulled back in a loose bun with a few stray strands framing her dark face.

She appraises you for a moment with something close to disgust in her eyes. It's hard not to flinch – you are used to Natalie's hostility, but it's foreign coming from someone you've probably only seen once or twice in passing.

Jacob breaks the short silence. "Leah – this is Bella." You're shocked to hear the reluctance and disdain in his voice. "Paint nails, or make cookies, or whatever it is girls do, just – be nice, okay? I'll see you later tonight."

Leah sniffs and rolls her eyes. "Whatever. Come in," she mumbles as she walks back into the house and rounds a corner, disappearing out of sight but leaving the door open.

You turn to Jacob, panicking. "You're leaving already?" you say, hating the way your voice is seeping with pathetic wanting and fear.

He simply smiles sadly in return, finding your hand as though to hold you in place, or comfort you, or something. More than anything, though, it makes you sick to your stomach and leaves your heart beating even more erratically than before. Lately, it's been a real struggle to let Jacob comfort you like he once was able to. Because at any given moment, he could be out of your life forever, killed maliciously at the hands of Victoria...

"Please be careful," you whisper, your eyes averting from his as his gaze becomes ever more intense and burning. "Promise me you'll be careful, okay?"

He rolls his eyes and says, "I don't usually go out of my way looking for ways to get hurt, Bella. Oh, and isn't that something – I'm haven't been hurt yet! Weird, right?"

"_Yet_," you repeat stressfully.

The atmosphere around you seems to change. You risk looking up at Jacob's face, almost shrinking under the desperation under his gaze.

A million thoughts run through your mind all at once – how easy it would be to reach your hands up and stroke his face lovingly, to run your hands through his wonderfully fluffy-looking hair, to stretch up on your tiptoes and let your lips linger on his with all the love in the world – but you don't do any of these things.

A million things threaten to escape your mouth all at once – things like _I love you so much more than you'll ever know. I only want for you to love me back with nothing standing in our way. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, growing old as you grow old with me. I want you. I need you. I love you – _but you don't say any of these things.

What you _do_ say is, "You'd better go. Sam will be wondering what's taking you so long."

Jacob seems to be pulled out of a reverie, and for a moment you hope that he was thinking the exact same things you were just thinking. "Yeah, you-you're right. You'll be fine?" A question, not a statement. He's letting you decide for yourself, and you wish that you could stop loving him so much.

You smile. "Of course. Don't worry about poor ol' overdramatic me."

Jacob nods slowly. "Yeah. You'll be alright. And so will I. So don't worry about me either. Then we'll be even." He smiles his stupid, perfect smile – only this time it's a little tighter than before, like there's a million words hidden behind his lips that he's trying desperately to not let escape.

You wave from the window as Jacob pulls out from the Clearwater's driveway. He warms up your heart with his smile, and for a moment you remember what you're worth, but more importantly the fact that Jacob still seems to think that you're worth fighting for.


End file.
